Time of the Angels
Time of the Angels
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This is a haunting novel o macabre entanglements and satanic passions.
“You mean you don’t know what happened to her?” “Well, people did just disappear in the war. She disappeared. I kept hoping, for a while.” “Oh, I am sorry. What was your sister’s name?” There was a silence. Eugene had suddenly found himself unable to speak. A great lump of emotion rose inside him and seemed to surge out into the room. He gripped the edge of the table. It was years and years since he had spoken of these things to anybody. He said after a moment. “Her name was Elizabeth.
paper, I’ve written it down.” “I’ll go and see the shopman,” said Marcus. “I promise nothing. Now get out.” Leo picked up his coat and scarf and put them on. He looked at Marcus now with the same serene beam, radiating not gratitude so much as a gentle solicitous pity. Then with a deliberation which was almost that of curiosity he reached out and touched Marcus on the shoulder. It was a tentative tap, not like a caress. Marcus caught Leo’s retreating wrist, squeezed it violently, and threw it
suppose she doesn’t want the money?” “No. She keeps telling me I can have it as a present. But I can’t. That’s not morals, it’s psychology.” “Often the same thing. I see the difficulty.” “You do believe all this, don’t you?” said Leo. “I’ve told you a lot of things which aren’t true. This is true.” “I believe this,” said Muriel. She did. “Have you paid her the money now?” “Well, no,” said Leo. “That’s the point. At least this is what, in a way, you are doing for me, or I am doing for you. I
jacket. Shifting the pressure from her shoulder and edging back the collar of his coat with his chin he tried to get a grip on her waist and move her nearer in between the flaps of the coat. He held on to the slippery bunchy fur, pulling at it. It was a gauche embrace. They stood face to face, two rotund bundles of clothing, unable to get close enough, excluding each other. Pattie stared past him, her cheek wet where the snow had melted on it. He felt the cold air assault his body. Then Pattie
it has become the real order of things, the black pit beneath us, the rule of Chaos, the return of the Old Night. We often hear this claim, or something like it, from the cultured despisers of religion in our midst. They know there is no God, but they admit that the illusion of God was a good way of keeping people in order. Now that God is dead they worry that all restraint on human evil will be removed. The amiable David Hume took this line. He cheerfully rejected religion as an illusion, but he