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intensity that pulled his voice down, blurring its tone to softness, gave it a sound of self-mockery that was desperate and almost gentle: “Then I knew that abandoning my motor was not the hardest price I would have to pay for this strike.” She wondered which anonymous shadow-among the passengers who had hurried past her, as insubstantial as the steam of the engines and as 杭州夜生活好去处 ignored-which shadow and face had been his; she wondered how close she had come to him for the length of that unknown moment. “Oh, why didn’t you speak to me, then or later?” “Do you happen to remember what you were doing in the Terminal that night?” “I remember 杭州萧山区夜网 vaguely a night when they called me from some party I was attending. My father was out of town and the new Terminal manager had made some sort of error that tied up all traffic in the tunnels. The old manager had quit unexpectedly the week before.” “It was I who made him quit.” “I see . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if abandoning sound, as her eyelids dropped, abandoning sight. If he had not withstood it then-she thought-if he had come to claim her, then or later, what sort of tragedy would they have had to reach? . . . She remembered what she had felt when she had cried 杭州按摩会所推荐 that she would shoot the destroyer on sight. . . .I would have-the thought was not in words, she knew it only as a trembling pressure in her stomach-I would have shot him, afterward, if I discovered his role . . . and I would have had to discover it . . .and yet-she shuddered, because she knew she still wished he had come to her, because the

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thought not to be admitted into her mind, but flowing as a dark warmth through her body, was: I would have shot him, but not before. She raised her eyelids-and she knew that that thought was as naked to him in her eyes, as it was to her in his. She saw his veiled glance and the tautness of his mouth, she saw him reduced to agony, she felt herself drowned by the exultant wish to cause him pain, to see it, to watch it, to watch it beyond her own endurance and his, then to reduce him to the 杭州足浴过夜 helplessness of pleasure. He got up, he looked away, and she could not tell whether it was the slight lift of his head or the tension of his features that made his face look oddly calm and clear, as if it were stripped of emotion down to the naked purity of its structure. “Every man that your railroad needed and lost in the past ten

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years,” he said, “it was I who made you lose him.” His voice had the single toned flatness and the luminous simplicity of an accountant who reminds a reckless purchaser that cost is an absolute which cannot be escaped, “I have pulled every girder from 杭州水疗会所排名 under Taggart Transcontinental and, if you choose to go back, I will see it collapse upon your head.” He turned to leave the room. She stopped him. It was her voice, more than her words, that made him stop: her voice was low, it had no quality of emotion, only 杭州洗浴会所特色服务 of a sinking weight, and its sole color was some dragging undertone, like an inner echo, resembling a threat; it was the voice of the plea of a person who still retains a concept of honor, but is long pas