Sublime

She tried to say something but before a sound came out his hand clamped over her mouth, over half her face in fact, and he grinned and said, “Shh,” as if they were conspirators in a game. With his other hand he was fiddling with her clothes and she squealed in protest. Then he was butting up against her, the way the bullocks in the Lower Field did

“She had a great gift of finding out people’s interests and drawing them out.”

Mrs. Amber Moltke, the artist’s young spouse, wore a great billowing pastel housedress and flattened espadrilles and was, for better or worse, the sexiest morbidly obese woman Atwater had ever seen. Eastern Indiana was not short on big pretty girls, but this was less a person than a vista, a quarter ton of sheer Midwest pulchritude, and Atwater had

Sylvie kept thinking she would break away, turn a corner, and walk back to Julia. She hadn’t meant to leave with Kent. She’d spoken to him in front of the apartment building, the sun beating down on them. She’d planned to hand over the news like a bowl of bad apples and then back away.

decepticated,

‘She was the wife of John Bell, who owned Lowlands until his death in 1889, and we’ve never known anything more about her: it’s as if she’s been cut out of time. We have records of their marriage, but not of her death; we have no portraits of her anywhere, and when the house and contents were sold none of her possessions were listed in the inventor

During the interviews she’d asked a lot of questions about height and eye colour and other things that were none of her business. “That’s the concern of the First Mothers,” Sharmayne had finally told her. “We do the genetic planning around here. He’s a good clean boy, that’s all you need to know. Maybe a little temperamental, but just go easy with

Anne was then transferred to the Langley Porter Clinic, in San Francisco, for two weeks. She was released with instructions to continue with her medication for a further two to three months. Whatever PKD’s motivations for this action, relations within the marriage did not improve. In his novel Now Wait for Last Year (1966), written in the autumn of

anthropomorphically.”