Sunday, April 16, 2006

feeling no pain

Apricot brandy. Writing.

Nope, the combo doesn't work for me.

An icy snow-laden gust of wind blew across the room, from open window through open door, and Smith shivered. 'My God, it's bitter.'

'Loss of blood,' Schaffer said briefly, then added, unsympathetically: 'And all that brandy you guzzled back there. When it comes to opening pores--'

He broke off and lay very still, lowering his head a fraction to sight along the barrel of his schmeisser.

--from "Where Eagles Dare," Alistair MacLean

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