a feather-footed, frenzied flight, carnival canons from a Moog, a symphony of coloured light. Now, suddenly, the over, party’s and samba, tango, bossa nova pause in a thunderous mid-step, and scaredy-cats no longer hep have lost their rhythm, and are tripping and crashing into broken piles, rocking and rolling in the aisles, and hands are redly dripping someone’s and horrified, and everyone wonders what he or she has done. [314] 31/7 visit was a puncture Rebecca’s in the dream-world that created, he’d the flimsy film that, till that juncture, had stretched its soapy hues and waited for its inevitable breach. It only took reach, Rebecca’s an introduction of the actual, to compromise his counterfactual and send it into scattered scraps, the rubber of a burst balloon, leaving him howling at the moon, cursing the heavens for his lapse, denouncing gods of every name, looking for someone else to blame. [315] 1/8 an obvious contender, Pyrrha’s ideal as far as scapegoats go. Her plan to resolutely render him powerless to answer no has been a runaway success. Though the one who answered yes— he’s he knows it, and he deny it— can’t cause him nothing but disquiet she’ll as long as compelled to live he’s with his regrets. a reminder She’s of days when he was dumber, blinder: until able to forgive he’s himself, he forgive her either. won’t He calls to say he needs a breather. [316] 2/8 He calls to see if Bec is calmer. She is. have to call. “You didn’t no room here for melodrama, There’s
a feather-footed, frenzied flight, carnival canons from a Moog, a symphony of coloured light. Now, suddenly, the party’s over, and samba, tango, bossa nova pause in a thunderous mid-step, and scaredy-cats no longer hep have lost their rhythm, and are tripping and crashing into broken piles, rocking and rolling in the aisles, and someone’s hands are redly dripping and horrified, and everyone wonders what he or she has done. [314] 31/7 Rebecca’s visit was a puncture in the dream-world that he’d created, the flimsy film that, till that juncture, had stretched its soapy hues and waited for its inevitable breach. It only took Rebecca’s reach, an introduction of the actual, to compromise his counterfactual and send it into scattered scraps, the rubber of a burst balloon, leaving him howling at the moon, cursing the heavens for his lapse, denouncing gods of every name, looking for someone else to blame. [315] 1/8 Pyrrha’s an obvious contender, ideal as far as scapegoats go. Her plan to resolutely render him powerless to answer no has been a runaway success. Though he’s the one who answered yes— he knows it, and he can’t deny it— she’ll cause him nothing but disquiet as long as he’s compelled to live with his regrets. She’s a reminder of days when he was dumber, blinder: until he’s able to forgive himself, he won’t forgive her either. He calls to say he needs a breather. [316] 2/8 He calls to see if Bec is calmer. She is. “You didn’t have to call. There’s no room here for melodrama,
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