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john2072
Wysłany: Sob 9:35, 12 Lut 2011
Temat postu: On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Published bbaafjre
elt-buckle melted. The bones turned white and crumpled like things made out of sugar ― I
had a nightmare image of Mexican children eating candy corpses off long sticks on the Day of the
Dead. The eyesockets of Sara's skull widened as the lye filled the dark hollow where her mindher
prodigious talentand her laughing soul had once resided. It was an expression that looked at first
like surprise and then like sorrow.
The jaw fell off; the nubs of the teeth sizzled away.
The top of the skull caved in.
Spread fingerbones jitteredthen melted.
'Ohhhhhh . . . '
It whispered through the soaking trees like a rising wind . . . only the wind had died as the wet air
caught its breath before the next onslaught. It was a sound of unspeakable grief and longing and
surrender. I sensed no hate in it; her hate was goneburned away in the corrosive I had bought in
Helen Auster's shop. The sound of Sara's going was replaced by the plaintivealmost human cry of
a birdand it awakened me from the place where I had beenbrought me finally and completely out
of the zone. I got shakily to my feetturned aroundand looked at The Street.
Jo was still therea dim form through which I could now see the lake and the dark clouds of th
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the wife I mean is Mrs. Bold.
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