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Patrick
is on page 100 of 269
She got up and he saw the skin of her thigh for a moment above the artificial silk, and a prick of sexual desire disturbed him like a sickness. That was what happened to a man in the end: the stuffy room, the wakeful children, the Saturday night movements from the other bed. Was there no escape - anywhere - for anyone? It was worth murdering a world.
— May 01, 2017 10:51AM
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Patrick
is on page 210 of 269
'I'd like a stick of Brighton rock,' she said.
Again he grinned: only the devil, he thought, could have made her answer that. She was good, but he'd got her like you got God in the eucharist -- in the guts. God couldn't escape the evil mouth which chose to eat its own damnation.
— May 10, 2017 09:52AM
Again he grinned: only the devil, he thought, could have made her answer that. She was good, but he'd got her like you got God in the eucharist -- in the guts. God couldn't escape the evil mouth which chose to eat its own damnation.
Patrick
is on page 141 of 269
She came away from the wall and lifted her face to him. He knew what was expected of him; he regarded her unmade-up mouth with faint nausea. Saturday night, eleven o'clock, the primeval exercise.
— May 05, 2017 10:21AM
