bebeklerim
lockwood.
after four months, his proximity was shocking; shocking too how familiar and unfamiliar he was, all at the same time. he was standing on the dowdy little landing in his long dark coat, his right hand still hovering by the bell. his hair, as ever, flopped to one side over his brow; his eyes sparkled at me between the fronds. as i met his gaze, he smiled and that smile was a world away from the 100-gigawatt version you saw in the papers. it was warm but somehow hesitant, as if it hadn't recently been used. it was the smile i'd hazily imagined a hundred times, only now it was real, solid, meant just for me. he wore the same old coat with the same old claw marks from the night we'd opened mrs Barrett's tomb. the suit was new though - charcoal-grey with the thinnest purple stripe, always, it was elegant, stylish and slightly too tight for him. i even recognized the tie - it was one i'd given him year ago, after the case of the christmas corpse. so he still had that, still liked to wear it..
Sayfa 61 - lockwood ─ lucy reunionKitabı okuyor
I kept an arm around her, shielding her whether or not there was any immediate threat. It had become an instinct, to keep as much of my body between her and the world as I could, even before the Epidemic I'd done that.
what fascinated victor 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 was the fact that something about eli was decidedly 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. he was like one of those pictures full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle, and even then, a few always slipped by. on the surface, eli seemed perfectly normal, but now and then victor would catch a crack, a sideways glance, a moment when his roommate’s face and his words, his look and his meaning, would not line up. those fleeting slices fascinated victor. it was like watching two people, one hiding in the other's skin. and their skin was always too dry, on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath.
I can't even see you ... I haven't been able to seee you for years...
Yang Zhu held that each individual should value his own life above all else, despise wealth and power, and not agree to sacrifice even a single hair of his head to benefit the whole world.
As I watched the wood blacken and crumble and collapse, my lungs constricted, refused to take in sufficient air. How swiftly, how suddenly everything had gone wrong. Where did it even begin? Not with Meredith and me, I told myself, but months earlier—with Caesar? Macbeth? It was impossible to identify Point Zero. I squirmed, unable to dismiss the idea that some huge invisible weight was crushing down on me like a boulder. (It was that ponderous crouching demon Guilt. At the time I didn’t know him, but in the months to come he would climb onto my chest every night and sit snarling there, an ugly Fuselian nightmare.) The fire burned down to embers and its light slowly left the room, leaking out through the cracks. Lacking oxygen, light-headed, I tilted back toward unconsciousness, and it was more like suffocating than falling asleep.
Act 3, Scene 3Kitabı okuyor
As I tell the story to Colborne, guilt wriggles, wormlike, in the pit of my stomach. Our relationship was a point of significant interest, but Meredith refused to testify at my trial, stubbornly insisting that she didn’t remember what everyone wanted to know. She spent a few weeks being hounded by press people, which proved to be too much attention even for her. After I was convicted she went back to the Manhattan apartment and, for a month or so, didn’t come out. (Her brother Caleb made the news before she did, when he broke a paparazzo’s jaw with his briefcase. After that, the vultures lost interest, and I thought of Caleb more fondly.)
Meredith did eventually make her way to TV—she stars now in some legal drama loosely based on the Henry VI cycle. It was popular in prison, not because of its Shakespearean source material, but because she spends a lot of time on the show lounging around in slinky nightgowns that show off her figure. She came to visit me—only once—and when the rumor that I’d had some sort of affair with her surfaced, it won me unprecedented respect among the other inmates. If pressed for details I told them only what could be found on the Internet or was obvious: that she was a natural redhead, had a small birthmark on her hip, wasn’t shy about sex. The more intimate truths I kept to myself: that our lovemaking was as sweet as it was savage; that despite her normally foul mouth the only noise she ever made in bed was to murmur “Oh God, Oliver” in my ear; that we might have even loved each other, for a minute or two.
Act 3, PrologueKitabı okuyor
He IS perfect
“You’re perfect,” I tell him, so overcome I forget myself. “All of you. Your
entire body. Proportionally. Symmetrically. You’re absurdly, mathematically
perfect. It doesn’t even make sense that a person could look like you,” I say,
shaking my head. “I can’t believe you would ever say something like that—”
JulietteKitabı okudu
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. Twice I’ve laid myself bare for you and all it’s gotten me was a bullet wound
and a broken heart. Don’t torture me,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “It’s a
cruel thing to do, even to someone like me.”
Aaron WarnerKitabı okudu
For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of- to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.
Sayfa 70Kitabı okuyor
