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~::大魔王公益服|Jimena Carranza::~

~::大魔王公益服|Jimena Carranza::~

                                          • A window banged down above Bond's head. Bond looked up. His immediate reaction was that the black veil was too wide-meshed. The intention to disguise the luxurious mouth and the excited blue eyes was amateurish.'Of course. Call you back in a few minutes. But watch your step abroad and call us at once if you get bored and need company. So long.'

                                            Horatia. I shall sink to the cellar.

                                                                                    • 'Well, it should do,' she said staunchly. 'With all the trouble that's been taken. But' - she hesitated - 'I don't like you taking this man on without a gun.' She waved a hand at the pile on the floor. 'And all these stupid books about heraldry! It's just not you. You will take care, won't you?'Horatia. Alas, our unhappy Prince!

                                                                                      Tilly Masterton touched Bond's sleeve. Her voice trembled. 'Are you sure they're only asleep? I thought I saw some sort of… sort of froth on some of the lips.'So I made scrambled eggs and coffee and hot buttered toast for myself as well, and, after I had taken theirs over, I sat down out of sight of them behind the counter and ate mine and then, almost calmly, lit a cigarette. I knew the moment I lit it that it was a foolish thing to do. It called attention to me. Worse, it showed I had recovered, that I was worth baiting again. But the food and the simple business of eating it-of putting salt and pepper on the eggs, sugar into the coffee-had been almost intoxicating. It was part of the old life, a thousand years ago, before the men came. Each mouthful-the forkful of egg, the bit of bacon, the munch of buttery toast-was an exquisite thing that occupied all my senses. Now I knew what it must be like to get some food smuggled into jail, to be a prisoner of war and get a parcel from home, to find water in the desert, to be given a hot drink after being rescued from drowning. The simple act of living, how precious it was! If I got out of this, I would know it forever. I would be grateful for every breath I breathed, every meal I ate, every night I felt the cool kiss of sheets, the peace of a bed behind a closed, locked, door. Why had I never known this before? Why had my parents, my lost religion, never taught it to me? Anyway, I knew now. I had found it out for myself. Love of life is born of the awareness of death, of the dread of it. Nothing makes one really grateful for life except the black wings of danger.

                                                                                                                              • "Miss Goodnight's been posted abroad. Can you give me a brief description of H.Q., just the main geography?"

                                                                                                                                AND INDIA.