. an unseen string jerked gisela round to face to me ." what i can't make marcus understand is that living with a person you love is not necessarily the best thing ."
i glanced back at the venerable gray stone manor , every window polished , every blade of grass trimmed , it was expensive , exclusive , and out of reach for most ." so that 's it ." i said . rumbling to the whole picture at lat .." you don't want to lse all this . it's too risky . poor marcus .
lymphatic drainage cionsisted of someone's passing their fingers over my face and neck with fluttering movements . it was not unpleasant . in fact , it was quite the opposite , and i felt myself slip into drownsiness .
the fingers fluttered and stroked .... birds wheeling south ... te beathing of a month's wing at dust .... little slaps of the sea on the shore .
definitely , i was trying not to think .
little slaps of sea ... like the sea at priac bay that rose had described so well that day .... the day nathan had died in her flat ... to which i had taken the boys .
it was a tiny bay , she had said ( she was right and the boys had loved it ). the coastal path ran along the cliff where there were always walker tramping . thrift grew in clumps , sea grass , and at the right time of year , daisies , the sea can be many things , rose said , but she loved it best when it was flat and it was possible to peer down throgh its torquoise shimmer to hidden rocks and seaweed . from the coast guard 's cottage it waas possible to look out over the rock where , centuries ago , wreckers plundered stricen vessels . a path was cut the cliff where the pack animals had waited as the looters scrambled up with their booty .
i glanced back at the venerable gray stone manor , every window polished , every blade of grass trimmed , it was expensive , exclusive , and out of reach for most ." so that 's it ." i said . rumbling to the whole picture at lat .." you don't want to lse all this . it's too risky . poor marcus .
lymphatic drainage cionsisted of someone's passing their fingers over my face and neck with fluttering movements . it was not unpleasant . in fact , it was quite the opposite , and i felt myself slip into drownsiness .
the fingers fluttered and stroked .... birds wheeling south ... te beathing of a month's wing at dust .... little slaps of the sea on the shore .
definitely , i was trying not to think .
little slaps of sea ... like the sea at priac bay that rose had described so well that day .... the day nathan had died in her flat ... to which i had taken the boys .
it was a tiny bay , she had said ( she was right and the boys had loved it ). the coastal path ran along the cliff where there were always walker tramping . thrift grew in clumps , sea grass , and at the right time of year , daisies , the sea can be many things , rose said , but she loved it best when it was flat and it was possible to peer down throgh its torquoise shimmer to hidden rocks and seaweed . from the coast guard 's cottage it waas possible to look out over the rock where , centuries ago , wreckers plundered stricen vessels . a path was cut the cliff where the pack animals had waited as the looters scrambled up with their booty .
No comments:
Post a Comment