Name: In Between the Sheets
ISBN: 9780679749837

作者: Ian McEwan
出版社: Anchor Books
出版年: 1994-11-1
页数: 160
定价: GBP 9.83
装帧: Paperback
ISBN: 9780679749837

豆瓣评分

8.3

113人评价

5星

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4星

46.9%
3星

22.1%
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0.0%
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0.0%

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内容简介 · · · · · ·

Call them transcripts of dreams or deadly accurate maps of the tremor zones of the psyche, the seven stories in this collection engage and implicate us in the most fearful ways imaginable. A two-timing pornographer becomes an unwilling object in the fantasies of one of his victims. A jaded millionaire buys himself the perfect mistress and plunges into a hell of jealousy and des...

(展开全部)

作者简介 · · · · · ·

伊恩·麦克尤恩（1948—），本科毕业于布莱顿的苏塞克斯大学，于东英吉利大学取得硕士学位。从一九七四年开始，麦克尤恩在伦敦定居，次年发表的第一部中短篇集就得到了毛姆文学奖。此后他的创作生涯便与各类奖项的入围名单互相交织，其中《阿姆斯特丹》获布克奖，《时间中的孩子》获惠特布莱德奖，《赎罪》获全美书评人协会奖。近年来，随着麦克尤恩在主流文学圈获得越来越高的评价，在图书市场上创造越来越可观的销售记录，他已经被公认为英国的“国民作家”，他的名字已经成为当今英语文坛上“奇迹”的同义词。

目录 · · · · · ·

Pornography
Reflections of a Kept Ape
Two Fragments
Dead As They Come
In Between the Sheets
To and Fro
· · · · · · (更多)

原文摘录 · · · · · · ( 全部 )

你的问题是，你害怕自己喜欢的东西 (查看原文)

[已注销] 3赞 2012-08-06 10:08:33

—— 引自第16页
有时我看着她，想着我们谁会先死......面对面，在百纳被和乱糟糟的绒毛中度过冬天。她两手分别捏住我两个耳朵，把我的头捧在双掌之中，用迷蒙的黑色的眼睛注视着我，抿嘴而笑，笑不露齿.....于是我想，是我，是我应该先死，而你会永远活下去。 (查看原文)

C 3赞 2016-04-25 23:14:14

—— 引自第140页

> 全部原文摘录

豆瓣成员常用的标签(共46个) · · · · · ·

IanMcewan 英国文学英国 IanMcEwan 小说伊恩·麦克尤恩英文原版文学

喜欢读"In Between the Sheets"的人也喜欢 · · · · · ·

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: The Comfort of Strangers

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: The Power and the Glory

我来说两句

短评 · · · · · · ( 全部 45 条 )

In Between the Sheets的话题 · · · · · · ( 全部条 )

什么是话题

无论是一部作品、一个人，还是一件事，都往往可以衍生出许多不同的话题。将这些话题细分出来，分别进行讨论，会有更多收获。

我要写书评

In Between the Sheets的书评 · · · · · · ( 全部 32 条 )

热门 / 最新 / 好友 /只看本版本的评论

malingcat 2011-01-03 08:54:32 上海译文出版社2010版

黑巫师

约翰•伦纳德（John Leonard）说：麦克尤恩的“脑袋是个有意思的地方，值得一访，但要我长住我可不干。那里漆黑一片，弥漫着乙醚的气味。弗洛伊德吊在房梁的钩子上，床脚箱里装满骷髅，蝎子满地横行，蝙蝠四处乱撞。所有的性交均以失败告终……... (展开)

104

3 15回应

Luke 2008-01-17 20:06:37

畸形的爱，无望的爱

这篇书评可能有关键情节透露

伊恩·麦克尤恩只出了两个短篇集，除了《First Love, Last Rites》，就是这本《In Between the Sheets》，都是的薄薄的，都是收入不到十个短篇。这一本在性和暴力程度上不如上一个短篇集那么强烈，而更多笼罩了一层凄惨、无奈的色彩。 1． Pornography。一男，有女友二，皆... (展开)

4 13回应

猛虎烙饼 2012-03-10 00:09:54 上海译文出版社2010版

谁在床笫之间翻滚--In Between the Sheets。

前些天重看了Atonement，Keira是朵名副其实的英伦玫瑰。电影的色彩很美，有雷诺阿的画面感。那个史诗般的长镜头一如既往的悲怆。当年貌似拿了金球奖，尽管它在豆瓣和imdb上分数比我心中的低，但这不妨碍它是部好电影。扯远了。。。想说的是这几天看了老麦其他几部作品... (展开)

1 10回应

风中 2011-05-01 14:23:59 上海译文出版社2010版

自身有瑕

就个人纯粹的口味而言，当一种整体感存在或者说降临以后，语言，故事的具体才能往往是可以适当而有限度地被忽略的。这是看麦克尤恩的第二本小说了。不是每篇都会去喜欢。说喜欢这个词，还会有误导作用。是看到想回避，想下意识遮蔽的东西，总被他拎了出来，一丝遮羞布都没有，... (展开)

1 1回应

我是粉红豹 2013-01-30 09:25:35 上海译文出版社2010版

狂野不羁、惊世骇俗

这篇书评可能有关键情节透露

阅读这样的作品，对我来说是一次全新的体验，这种体验是其他作家、作品所无法带给我的。有时我还意犹未尽，它却悄然结束，留下极大的空间让我思考；有时读完后很是畅快淋漓，可在看过书评后才知道，自己的理解完全错误，让我抓狂；有时看得我云里雾里，不知其所云，从而感叹自... (展开)

0回应

肥纳斯大人 2013-09-04 09:48:44 上海译文出版社2010版

床笫之间：每个人都有两个身体

这篇书评可能有关键情节透露

But she was asleep and almost smiling, and in the pallor of her upturned throat he thought he saw from one bright morning in his childhood a field of dazzling white snow which he, a small boy of eight, had not dared scar with footprints. 在她仰着的... (展开)

1 1回应

[已注销] 2011-04-24 17:49:22 上海译文出版社2010版

不是书评

开着窗户可以听到晚饭前楼下孩子们嬉戏的声音闻到谁家厨房散出的菜香据说人们对味道很难有记忆只有那个味道重现时才会觉得似曾相识这些声音和味道叠加起来让我想到自己浑然不觉的小时候小时候人还没有那么多意识的时候时间就在一顿顿饭一堂堂课一次次的反叛中悄然度过当... (展开)

3回应

MAX 2012-12-13 13:55:45 上海译文出版社2010版

你从哪里看到真实的自己？

这口井打完了在起钻，这个夜班在日出前都会很无聊我站在直升机平台上吹吹风，从北边陆地那排成细密一行闪烁着橘红色灯光的城市吹来坦白的说，我就是很无聊宝贝睡觉前喝了一瓶2两的二锅头，因为她的一个朋友面临被父母干涉而强制分手的无可奈何我们的谈话最后也不欢而散... (展开)

0回应

我太困了 2012-12-13 10:42:15 上海译文出版社2010版

《In Between the Sheets》和《black mirror》以及其他

Ian McEwan的《In Between the Sheets》，其中某些篇章读来恍惚有《black mirror》的感觉，荒诞、惊恐以及黑色幽默。这种感受来自《In Between the Sheets》写到的人兽恋，以猿作为第一人称叙述，刚开始一切看起来和正常世界没什么不同，你觉得这就是普通人的家庭婚恋，但你知... (展开)

0回应

染筝 2011-03-26 03:01:18 上海译文出版社2010版

阴郁满床恐怖伊恩

作为麦克尤恩唯一的两个短篇集子，此集子显然错向行进在《最初爱情》的旁侧。在读《床》的过程中，我犹如情不自禁地向一片灰暗悒郁的洞穴里走去，陌生而不排斥，胶着而超快感，越陷越深迷茫失措，但神经的节奏渐与伊恩文字相契合。可能作为原处状态的人，终会被伊恩哲学所触发... (展开)

1 1回应

> 更多书评 32篇

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第120页 Psychopolis

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was n...
2018-12-08 19:08:36

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was not till I came to America that I realized how rare an American he was. Slender, extraordinarily pallid, fine black hair that curled, does eyes like those of a Renaissance princess, long straight nose with narrow black slits for nostrils, Terence was unwholesomely beautiful. Lovely Sylvie leads Terance by the hand through half a dozen topics; she smiles and Terence flushes with love and love’s wildest ambitions. He loves to hard he knows he will not be able to resist declaring himself. He can feel it comingon, a mad confession. The words tumble out, a declaration of love worthy of the pages of Walter Scott, its main burden being that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world Terence would not do for Sylvie. In fact, drunk, he challenges her now to test his devotion. Touched by the bourbon and wine, intrigued by this wan, fin de siecle lunatic, Sylvie gazes warmly across the table and returns his little squeeze to the hand. In the rarefied air between them runs a charge of goodwill and daredevilry. Propelled by mere silence Terence repeats himself. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the etc. Sylvie’s gaze shifts momentarily form Terence’s face to the door of the restaurant through which a well-to-do middle-aged couple are now entering. She frowns, then smiles.
引自 Psychopolis

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回应 2018-12-08 19:08:36
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第80页 Dead As They Come

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was the...
2018-12-08 18:52:54

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was there a future for us together…would I ever have the courage to approach her? Courage! What did all my millions mean now, what now of my wisdom matured by the ravages of three marriages? I love her…I wished to possess her. And to possess her it seemd I would have to buy her. I have described how a factor in my life became a structure, it merged as orange to red in the rainbow. She sat back as a guest should and let herself be served by me. Yes, and the conversation. With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstable course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusion. With Helen I could converse ideally
引自 Dead As They Come

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第20页 Reflections of a Kept Ape

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single ide...
2018-12-08 18:51:06

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single idea, what sentense, what word? Moreover, good short stories are notoriously hard to write, harder perhaps than novels, and mediocre stories lie thick on the ground.
引自 Reflections of a Kept Ape

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第1页 Dead as They Come

Fiona_Zhao (purely unconscious enjoyment)

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I a...
2012-05-14 21:26:29

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstacle course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusions. Of my childhood, my father's death rattle, my mother's terror of sexuality, my own sexual initiation with an elder cousin; a lifetime talking on the phone she did not find it hard to conceal her feelings It is my belief that he never knew that I knew, and this at least gave me the illusion of power over him. I was locked in the miserable dungeon of my mind and the situation seemed utterly hopeless. It was all or nothing. I thought I saw my own soul recede from me across a vast black void till it was a pinprick of red light. I came as she died. That much I can say with pride. I know her death was a moment of intense pleasure to her.

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回应 2012-05-14 21:26:29

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第1页 Dead as They Come

Fiona_Zhao (purely unconscious enjoyment)

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I a...
2012-05-14 21:26:29

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstacle course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusions. Of my childhood, my father's death rattle, my mother's terror of sexuality, my own sexual initiation with an elder cousin; a lifetime talking on the phone she did not find it hard to conceal her feelings It is my belief that he never knew that I knew, and this at least gave me the illusion of power over him. I was locked in the miserable dungeon of my mind and the situation seemed utterly hopeless. It was all or nothing. I thought I saw my own soul recede from me across a vast black void till it was a pinprick of red light. I came as she died. That much I can say with pride. I know her death was a moment of intense pleasure to her.

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回应 2012-05-14 21:26:29
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第20页 Reflections of a Kept Ape

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single ide...
2018-12-08 18:51:06

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single idea, what sentense, what word? Moreover, good short stories are notoriously hard to write, harder perhaps than novels, and mediocre stories lie thick on the ground.
引自 Reflections of a Kept Ape

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回应 2018-12-08 18:51:06
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第80页 Dead As They Come

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was the...
2018-12-08 18:52:54

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was there a future for us together…would I ever have the courage to approach her? Courage! What did all my millions mean now, what now of my wisdom matured by the ravages of three marriages? I love her…I wished to possess her. And to possess her it seemd I would have to buy her. I have described how a factor in my life became a structure, it merged as orange to red in the rainbow. She sat back as a guest should and let herself be served by me. Yes, and the conversation. With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstable course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusion. With Helen I could converse ideally
引自 Dead As They Come

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回应 2018-12-08 18:52:54
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第120页 Psychopolis

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was n...
2018-12-08 19:08:36

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was not till I came to America that I realized how rare an American he was. Slender, extraordinarily pallid, fine black hair that curled, does eyes like those of a Renaissance princess, long straight nose with narrow black slits for nostrils, Terence was unwholesomely beautiful. Lovely Sylvie leads Terance by the hand through half a dozen topics; she smiles and Terence flushes with love and love’s wildest ambitions. He loves to hard he knows he will not be able to resist declaring himself. He can feel it comingon, a mad confession. The words tumble out, a declaration of love worthy of the pages of Walter Scott, its main burden being that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world Terence would not do for Sylvie. In fact, drunk, he challenges her now to test his devotion. Touched by the bourbon and wine, intrigued by this wan, fin de siecle lunatic, Sylvie gazes warmly across the table and returns his little squeeze to the hand. In the rarefied air between them runs a charge of goodwill and daredevilry. Propelled by mere silence Terence repeats himself. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the etc. Sylvie’s gaze shifts momentarily form Terence’s face to the door of the restaurant through which a well-to-do middle-aged couple are now entering. She frowns, then smiles.
引自 Psychopolis

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回应 2018-12-08 19:08:36

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第120页 Psychopolis

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was n...
2018-12-08 19:08:36

I lie on the edge of the litter, Robinson Crusoe making his plans for stackades of finely sharpened stakes, guns that will fire themselves at the faintest tremor of an alien step, hopes his goats and dogs will procreate, will not find another such nest of tolerant creatures. I had met Latterly years ago in England when he was researching a still uncompleted thesis on George Orwell, and it was not till I came to America that I realized how rare an American he was. Slender, extraordinarily pallid, fine black hair that curled, does eyes like those of a Renaissance princess, long straight nose with narrow black slits for nostrils, Terence was unwholesomely beautiful. Lovely Sylvie leads Terance by the hand through half a dozen topics; she smiles and Terence flushes with love and love’s wildest ambitions. He loves to hard he knows he will not be able to resist declaring himself. He can feel it comingon, a mad confession. The words tumble out, a declaration of love worthy of the pages of Walter Scott, its main burden being that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world Terence would not do for Sylvie. In fact, drunk, he challenges her now to test his devotion. Touched by the bourbon and wine, intrigued by this wan, fin de siecle lunatic, Sylvie gazes warmly across the table and returns his little squeeze to the hand. In the rarefied air between them runs a charge of goodwill and daredevilry. Propelled by mere silence Terence repeats himself. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the etc. Sylvie’s gaze shifts momentarily form Terence’s face to the door of the restaurant through which a well-to-do middle-aged couple are now entering. She frowns, then smiles.
引自 Psychopolis

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回应 2018-12-08 19:08:36
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第80页 Dead As They Come

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was the...
2018-12-08 18:52:54

I bore you with lyricism. The days came and passed. I saw her this day and not that, and perhaps twice on another day. Inperceptibly seeing her and not seeing her became a factor in my life, and then before I knew it, it passed from factor to structure. Would I see her today? Would all my hours and minutes be redeeemed? Would she look at me? Did she remember me from one time to another? Was there a future for us together…would I ever have the courage to approach her? Courage! What did all my millions mean now, what now of my wisdom matured by the ravages of three marriages? I love her…I wished to possess her. And to possess her it seemd I would have to buy her. I have described how a factor in my life became a structure, it merged as orange to red in the rainbow. She sat back as a guest should and let herself be served by me. Yes, and the conversation. With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstable course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusion. With Helen I could converse ideally
引自 Dead As They Come

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第20页 Reflections of a Kept Ape

乘风好去 (足够受用一生的足足一分钟的欣悦)

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single ide...
2018-12-08 18:51:06

Memories like that don't bother me any more. Everything has changed so much I can hardly believe it was us who were there. For two and a half years Sally Klee has grappled not with words and sentenses, nor with ideas, but with form, or rather, with tactics. Should she, for instance, break slience with a short story, work a single idea with brittle elegance and total control? But what single idea, what sentense, what word? Moreover, good short stories are notoriously hard to write, harder perhaps than novels, and mediocre stories lie thick on the ground.
引自 Reflections of a Kept Ape

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第1页 Dead as They Come

Fiona_Zhao (purely unconscious enjoyment)

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I a...
2012-05-14 21:26:29

I prefer silent women who take their pleasure with apparent indifference. My predilection is for pleasure unmitigated by the yappings and whinings of the soul. All the unhappiness of the past seemed now to have been necessary to make the present possible. It will come, you see, it will come she died, she came, she left this sublunary world... her first orgasm With those other guests of mine I always felt conversation to be an obstacle course over ditches and fences of contradiction, competition, misunderstanding and so on. My ideal conversation is one which allows both participants to develop their thoughts to their fullest extent, uninhibitedly, without endlessly defining and refining premises and defending conclusions. Without ever reaching conclusions. Of my childhood, my father's death rattle, my mother's terror of sexuality, my own sexual initiation with an elder cousin; a lifetime talking on the phone she did not find it hard to conceal her feelings It is my belief that he never knew that I knew, and this at least gave me the illusion of power over him. I was locked in the miserable dungeon of my mind and the situation seemed utterly hopeless. It was all or nothing. I thought I saw my own soul recede from me across a vast black void till it was a pinprick of red light. I came as she died. That much I can say with pride. I know her death was a moment of intense pleasure to her.

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回应 2012-05-14 21:26:29