“She started to tell him so, but the words vanished
unsaid when he abruptly thrust his hands under her skirt, all the way to her waist. Mary
gave a startled shriek and jerked back, almost oversetting the chair. He glared at her, his
eyes like black ice.
"You don't have to worry," he snapped. "This is Saturday. I only rape on Tuesdays and
Thursdays.”
“She was flustered; he could see it in the
way she kept twisting her fingers together. Did she think he was going to throw her down
on the seat and rape her? After all, he was a renegade Indian, and capable of anything.
Then again, the way she looked, maybe this was the most excitement she'd ever had.”
“I read somewhere that flying is like throwing your soul into the heavens and racing to catch it as it falls."
"I don't think mine would ever fall," he murmured, looking at the clear cold sky.”
“One morning just after Joe had left to drive to his class, Mary walked out to the barn and reflected on her state of hussiness. All in all, she was satisfied with it. Being a hussy had its advantages.”
“He stood looking down at her for a moment, then walked to the window and raised it. "Let's let the storm in," he said, and then it was with them, filling the half-dark room with sound and vibration. The rain-chilled air washed over her, cool and fresh on her heated skin. She sighed, the small sound drowned out by the din of thunder and rain.
There by the window, with the dim grey light outlining the bulge and plane of powerful muscle, Wolf removed his wet clothing.”
“because there may be a few coincidences in life, but none in crime. Everything has a motive.”
“Pure hell was living in her eyes.”
“Often a very old man has no other proof of his long life than his age.”
“We could, you know, go out for hot dogs. Don’t worry—they’re not actually dogs. It’s just a name. They’re these meat things that you put on buns—that’s a kind of bread—and then you top them with other things and—”
“I know what a hot dog is,” interrupted Mark.
“You do?” I asked, legitimately surprised. “How?”
“We’re not that remote. We have TV and movies. Besides, I’ve left Siberia, you know. I’ve been to the U.S.”
“Really? Did you try a hot dog?”
“No,” he said. “I was offered one … but it didn’t look that appetizing.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Blasphemy. They’re delicious.”
“Aren’t they compressed animal parts?” he pushed.
“Well, yeah… I think so. But so is sausage.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s just not right about a hot dog.”
“Not right? I think you mean so right.”
“Mr. Crossley suddenly wondered why he was why he was worrying about the note. It was only a joke, after all. He cleared his throat. Everyone looked up hopefully. 'Somebody,' said Mr. Crossley, 'seems to have sent me a Halloween message.' And he read out the note: 'SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH.'
6B thought this was splendid news. Hands shot up all over the room like a bed of beansprouts.
'It's me, Mr. Crossley!'
'Mr. Crossley, I'm the witch!'
'Can I be the witch, Mr. Crossley?'
'Me, Mr. Crossley, me, me, me!”
“The narrow bed with its purple, red, and green quilt, the bedside table with its jar of rocks, piled books. The porcelain basin near the window where she washed her face, the pitcher with the brown rose painted on it, the large crack like a vein in the bottom of the basin. The apricot orchard, the buzzing bees like a haze in spring. The barn—the smell of hay and manure, grease, old leather. The sun streaming through the slats. The mule’s nose in her palm.”
“You can't always wait for fate, you have to step in.”
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