"Stephen Goldin - Herds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen) "Sure. The Great Compromiser. Make any deal, as long as it
gets you what you want. Well, I've got a little surprise for you, Mister Supervisor. I do not make deals. I don't give a God damn whether you make it in politics or not. I intend to walk into our lawyer's office tomorrow and start the papers fluttering." "Stella..." "Maybe I'll even have a little talk with the press about all the milk of human kindness that flows in your veins, husband dear." "I'm warning you, Stella…" "That would be a big tragedy, wouldn't it, Wes, if you had to actually get elected…" "STOP IT, STELLA!" "… by the voters to get into office instead of being appointed all nice and neat by your buddies…" "STELLA!" His hands were up to her throat as he screamed her name. He wanted her to stop, but she wouldn't. Her lips kept moving and enveloped the cabin. Normal colorations vanished as the room took on a blood-red hue. He shook her and closed his huge hands tightly around her neck. The cigarette dropped from her surprised fingers at the unexpected attack, spilling some of its ashes on the floor. Stella raised her hands against her husband's chest and tried to push him away. For a moment she succeeded, but he kept coming, fighting off her flailing arms to grip her with all the strength at his disposal. There was a numbness in his fingers as they closed around her throat. He did not feel the soft warmth of her skin yielding under his pressure, the pulsing of the arteries in her neck or the instinctive tightening of her tendons. All he felt was his own muscles, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Gradually, her struggling subsided. Her facial coloring seemed funny, even through the red haze that clouded his vision. Her bulging eyes looked ready to leap from their sockets, opened wide and staring at him, staring, staring… He let go. She fell to the ground, but slowly. Slow-motion slow, dream slow. Still there was no sound as she hit the floor. She |
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