"Eliot Fintushel - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fintushel Eliot)

much."

"What in the goddamned State of Texas you
thanking me for, fat boy?"



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"HereтАЩs my sister, Nora," Gypsy said to
me, sotto voce. The most beautiful woman I
had ever seen in my life came right up to
our table. She stood there next to Gypsy,
with her hip in the cleft of Gone JoeтАЩs
chin. She looked impellingly familiar, but
I was drawing a blank; whatever she had
been to me was occluded by a sliver from
IzzyтАЩs bung.

10. What It Feels Like to Be an Angel

Even the trucker had to stop mopping and
look. How could a brother like that have a
sister like that? It wasnтАЩt her cup size
or complexion. Oh, she was pretty. She was
very pretty, in a domestic sort of way.
She wore boot jeans and a large T-shirt.
Her hair was a tangle of brown cascading
halfway down her back, with here and there
a strand of silver. Her mouth was wide,
the lips full, her dark eyes clear and
intense. Her face was washed by sorrow,
like a stone worn smooth by water.
Compassion, it said. There was her beauty.

The way Nora walked, the way her eyes
moved, effortlessly, without a trace of
affectation or desire, everything about
her won me. Hers was the secret face I put
myself to sleep by. I loved her
immediately.

Even Gone Joe stopped clawing for a
moment. A cool wave spread through the
caf├й. The tourists stopped jabbering and
breathed. The trucker stubbed his
cigarette.

Gypsy pulled out a chair for Nora, and she