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After using a paring knife to section and core an apple, Paul withdrew a sheet of stationery from his desk and uncapped a fountain pen. His penmanship was old-fashioned — in its neatness, as precise and appealing as fine calligraphy. He wrote: Dear Reverend White ...
the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may chance to
late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited
Gardener sat up suddenly, startled, expecting to pay for the movement with a whacking thud of pain through his head. There was none. He experienced a moment of nauseous vertigo that might have come from hunger, but his head was clear. The headache had passed in its sudden way while he slept—perhaps even while he was dreaming of his accident.
Go ahead! he thought grimly. Go ahead, take it, because when I finish with Cessna Corporation, every goddam stockholder they have is gonna be standing in his underwear! I'm going to sue those negligent sons of bitches for every banana-skin they've got!
weariness, the eyes were singularly quick and young, and wholly
words contemptuously. "There would be more sense in that, than in
The next morning there had been no Caddy, no sign of Bobbi's company. Bobbi had in fact seemed more cheerful, more her old self on that morning than at any time since Gardener had returned. He had convinced himself it was a dream, or perhaps something—not the DTs, exactly, but close—that had crawled out of a bottle. Then, not four nights ago, KYLE-1 had arrived again. Those same people had gotten out, met with Bobbi, and gone around to the shed.
acknowledged, however, that the Mr. Bertrams were very fine young men,
saw the ropes sway to and fro. And I heard that voice.'
When he turned onto the gravel driveway at the old house on the east edge of town, his fear deepened. The clapboard siding needed fresh paint, and the asphalt-shingle roof could have used repair, but the place wasn't ominous by any measure, not even as vaguely Gothic as the buildings in the heart of town. Modest. Dreary. Shabby. Nothing worse. He'd had a happy childhood here in spite of deprivation. As a kid, he hadn't even realized that his family was poor; that truth hadn't occurred to him until he went away to college and was able to look back on their life in Asherville from a distance. Yet for a few minutes, he waited in the driveway, overcome by inexplicable dread, unwilling to get out of the car and go inside.
warmly, 'Heaven keep me from its knowledge.'
threats of catching cold.
cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, and the
"We will. I'm sure we will."
as he seemed determined to remain silent, he was himself obliged to speak
"It's a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire
pleasant people, foremost of whom is Mr. Thunder-and-lightning Harris
'Old, no doubt,' replied Miss Charity; 'but a fine old gentleman.'
to present the new member." And, to the dismay of the rest of the
exchanged his riding-coat for a handsome morning-gown, his boots for
his eyes.
character and extent of such as were only imaginary.
cheerful, withering and genial, in the compass of one short hour, that
Agnes's suspicion that Barty would be a child prodigy had grown from seed to full fruit on the morning of the boy's first birthday, when he'd sat in his highchair, counting green-grape-and-apple pies. Through the following two years, ample proof of high intelligence and wondrous talents ripened Agnes's suspicion into conviction.
Barnabas, he restrained himself; yet seeming aware of the glowing
'Come, I'm not going to put down that, you know,' said the shopman with
and Mrs Varden and Miss Varden; and wouldn't they get out, said one; and
Beach didn't think so. This story was about two cops returning to barracks after investigating a single-fatality accident. They just happened to run on a gang of men jacklighting deer. What happened to the cops? Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? And the possible answers would look more and more ominous as the days passed. There were jacklighters in the story, jacklighters who'd perhaps panicked, shot a couple of cops, and then buried them in the woods. But Haven? Beach really believed they would think that was a completely different story, one nowhere near as interesting.
“Bartholomew,” Agnes said.
to the vilest purposes, by pouring out in a kind of ecstasy at least
nightcap, and demanded in a faint voice who was there.
table, sat by it until morning.
—or anyone in authority, her mind finished.
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Сб Дек 20, 2014 6:01 pm