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Author » Alice Thompson. The book collector, p. The Book Collector, page Try our free service – convert any of your text to speech! More than 10 english voices! Colldctor she walked back frde the village, she wondered about returning to the field. She decided not to. She reached the house, where she the book collector alice thompson free download Clara at the kitchen window, her hair glinting in the sun. She looked like a visitation, a hard angel, cut out from stained glass.
Without seeming to make a decision, she had turned and was walking back out towards the fields and forest. She walked through the wood, the trees gently brushing her cheeks. She found alicd breathing grow heavier. As she approached the stream it looked exactly the same as it downlaod when she had shown Archie the scene earlier. The water flowed gently.
She peered into the stream. There нажмите чтобы перейти to be no disturbance to the pebbles or indentation in the sandy bottom. She took off her shoes and socks and entered the water. It was freezing, like a wild animal biting into her flesh.
She walked further into the water. The reflection of the sunlight on the water still concealed some of the bottom of the stream. If she could look directly down, using her body to shield the water from the sun, she could see the bottom clearly.
There were just some golden pebbles and a few jagged black rocks. Some delicate strands of green weeds, waving in the currents. Something had the book collector alice thompson free download caught on one of them, a thread of silver light. She bent down into the cold water, her hand feeling as if it had been turned to stone.
She carefully plucked the weed, tugging it out of the pebbles. It came away quite easily. Unable to bear the cold any longer, she staggered out of the water and collapsed onto the the book collector alice thompson free download. Her legs had grown purple, but she was holding the weed tightly in her hand, slimy and cold, like a small slithering fish. She opened downloav her hand and there on her palm lay the weed, thin and delicate and frail.
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They had taken all her secrets away from her in the asylum. They had shone a light on them and seized them for themselves. To her surprise the butler let her in without question and again showed her up to the drawing room collecyor the book collector alice thompson free download. She picked up a book from a table. On the cover was a fine ink drawing: it clearly was a tattoo. She touched the inky artifice of the wheel.
The cover felt like skin, she thought. She opened up the book. It was of a book of poems by Milton. Lavinia came in to see her dodnload at it. She never collected it from me. Some like to bind books in human skin as a keepsake.
Can be of someone who is loved. What is it that Shakespeare says? Books take precedence over our insignificant human mortality. It alkce seems sensible to me.
Archie asked if I would do this for him, too. To bind a book. I imagine it was the book you were asking about the last time you were here. He had a book donload fairy tales he had been planning to give Rose on their first wedding anniversary. She had always loved fairy tales. Doenload bound odwnload book in her skin? It worked beautifully. I had to dry the skin first. And stretch it. She had pale ffree. It took the green xollector well. He wanted здесь piece of skin collectof, to remind him of her.
It took a while to do this. By the time I had finished, he had married you. She had trusted him with her life. And she had believed in their marriage, she had believed that if they just both kept walking without looking down, they would get to the the book collector alice thompson free download side. She had let him into her heart when she should have erected barriers around it and built walls and dug a moat beneath and filled the moat with deep water.
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Archie was sound asleep. She got dressed and crept out the book collector alice thompson free download collrctor house and went down the garden to the woods.
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She entered the tunnel and came to a series of doors. She tried one, but it was locked. But there was no answer. Then she heard music coming from inside one of the rooms. It was piano music, the sound of Schumann, one of his last sonatas. Was someone playing on the piano? Or colldctor it a recording? She walked back home, her heart pounding at what she was discovering about her husband.
This new fairy story she had been plunged into against her will. In the morning she came downstairs. She heard the same Schumann sonata she had heard in the the book collector alice thompson free download coming from the piano in the drawing room. Ddownload went to the doorway. Had it been Clara who had been playing the piano in the cave? Violet quietly stepped away from the doorway. Violet confronted Archie when he returned home.
For the binding. And now you are murdering women taken from the asylum. And Clara is helping you. What are you doing with them? What are you talking about?
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Author » Alice Thompson. The book collector, p. The Book Collector, page 9. Try our free service – convert any of your text to speech! More than 10 english voices!
She nodded. They would put her back in the asylum. Take Felix away from her. Heard anything in the village? Had someone sent the detective to her, to trick her into mentioning her delusion? He was one of those people with a good memory. She felt almost overcome by his intelligence as if it was part of his sexuality. But she knew she had an intelligence to match his. She often noticed it was only when we shared the same qualities that we recognised them in other people.
Kind people recognised kindness in others. Unkind people saw kindness as a weakness to be exploited. Violet had always been slow to recognise malice. She had to be careful. She thought. What was wrong with her, this odd susceptibility to an utter stranger? He was just presenting a version of himself, just doing his job. But she is like one of the family. If only she could find the book. She knew it would have all the answers, this book of fairy tales.
But there was a look in his eyes, drawing her in. It was her undoing. First edition. His face was impassive, except for those eyes.
They were still staring at her. She felt her face flushing. She looked out of the window to see Clara wheeling the pram outside. Cuddly clothes, she thought, for someone not very cuddly. And why should he — when women are going missing? She shook herself, as if trying to shake off this image of what she had become, a ghost, a woman covered in cobwebs, a woman who no longer inhabited her own life but trespassed over it. That evening, having dinner with Archie, she looked at his face for clues.
She knew that if she asked about the missing book he would tell her more of his white lies. She would have lost whatever advantages she had, the power of her secret knowledge. He looked the same. And again she wondered, is this an act? Is this all an act? How real are you, Archie? She decided to go back to the bookshop. She dressed in a simple grey dress but she put up her hair, and painted her lips deep plum.
She did this without thinking but her heart was beating faster. She did not like to think why she wanted to make an impression on him. Taking that first step along the path to betrayal, that inevitable, tiny innocent step, which contained the seed of corruption within it.
She entered the shop, and the opening door set off the ringing of the bell. The young man was standing by one of the shelves. He was putting a book back on the shelf and looked round at her when he heard the bell.
A first edition? Was he lying? He looked at her laconically. He was beautiful, she thought, more beautiful than her, with his golden hair, his face flushed, like a lion, she thought. Be brave, she said to herself, be brave. He had to be brave, too. And perhaps that was for the best. To stay on either side of the chasm. Not looking down and not trying to cross, the wind blowing in their hair.
She touched one of the books. She touched the leather. His dark eyes, almost black, were full of fear and she wondered if her own dark ones were too.
What were they scared of? Of desire leaving a shell of good intentions behind itself. Why take that risk? It would be mad. This desire for a future to be different from the one taken by default.
She wanted him to embrace her, to take charge, have the courage of his conviction. She finally leaned forward and touched her lips with his. He stood there not responding but nor did he move back.
She kissed him harder, her teeth clashing against his, and he brought his arms behind her and pulled her in close. Still kissing, they staggered into the narrow corridor and he brought her to the floor between the towering piles of books on either side.
His hands fumbled for her breasts beneath the folds of cloth. She was gasping with desire. She felt him hard between her legs before he entered her.
She could see his face crease, as if in pain, before he came. He then buried his head in her chest, wanting to recover himself, not wanting to see her, or her to see him.
He finally looked up at her, grateful. Men were so grateful, she thought, when it came to sex. He thought she had given him something, so it was his turn now to return the favour. They took a carriage into the centre of London. She felt more intimate with him in the little hansom, within its dark walls on hard seats, than she had when fucking him. She could see the lights flashing past, hear the sound of the hooves on the cobblestones. You could be truly intimate without speaking, she thought.
There were no false promises, hurtful words. Histories could be rewritten and dreams realised. It seemed transparent, reflective and glittering. It was like being in a house made of glass, and it rendered Violet angelic and impatient. She felt this was deliberate in some way, a kind of resistance to being in her power, even if only within the deceptive rules of social etiquette. The head waiter then led them to a table in the centre of the room.
They ordered from the menu. He had structural hands, she noticed, and those wide-apart black eyes, and that sneaky, mocking mouth. After their first course was brought he started to eat. She waited a while before bringing out of her purse the photograph she had taken from the album of Lavinia and Archie together.
Would he have to tell her everything? They are rare. There are collectors who value them more than anything. Books bound in a unique way. A loved one, a lost daughter, son or uncle or husband. Lavinia is the most respected bookbinder in London.