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I dont mean it is impossible for an author to step out of his category. Just almost impossible. And sometimes it is as hard to break into the ghetto as out of it— "Oh," she said blankly. "I wonder why? I havent done anything." "The library just had it on loan. They have hundreds come in, this way. Our people keep them a while, then send them back. You know the procedure." "Petahauerat!" he howled out with the confidence he hoped would fool the fates. … kind of a ribbed pattern with a matching freggel-heggis, my wife seemed to be saying as I stopped at my dresser. I tossed my shirt on the bed and turned to the mirror, arching my chest. The Persistence of the Beach. The white flanks of the dunes reminded him of the endless promenades of Karen Novotnys body— diorama of flesh and hillock; the broad avenues of the thighs, piazzas of pelvis and abdomen, the closed arcades of the womb. This terracing of Karens body in the landscape of the beach in some way diminished the identity of the young woman asleep in her apartment. He walked among the displaced contours of her pectoral girdle. What time could be read off the slopes and inclines of this inorganic musculature, the drifting planes of its face? My upper lip is sweating, Olly. Closing the door, he glanced back. On the wall, Kinsey listened as each devil told how it had done absolutely everything with every other devil, had always done so and would always continue to do so, world without end, so that all the case histories were exactly the same, and all the lines of all the columns of all the tables held the same number.* * * * Weve got too few species in there for it to be a credible reproduction of a past earth, Scarfe complained. Only five species—the Magdalenians, the three sorts of dinosaur, the iguanodons, the compsognathi, and the allosaurs—and the mice. I don’t count those cicadas.” Ahh, said Biev with a sneer, more food. Then what do we learn? When a man survives what do we learn? Its when he almost makes it that we learn; we learn the uttermost limits of his adaptability.” Love does strange things to some people, Quincannon said sagely. He himself had never penned such missives, nor even once been tempted to. Actions, after all, spoke louder and more passionately than words. [ _5.jpg] "So Frenchys in trouble. It couldnt be something she's done. Someone she knows?" Its a strange sensation to pick up a book that you’ve read and enjoyed just a few months ago and discover that you don’t remember it. I remembered how great I thought John Milton was, but when I picked upParadise LostI couldn’t understand it at all. I got so angry I threw the book across the room. Driving his sound truck into the city shortly after nine the next morning, Mangon decided to postpone his first call— the weird Neo-Corbusier Episcopalian Oratory sandwiched among the office blocks in the downtown financial sector— and instead turned west on Mainway and across the park toward the white-faced apartment batteries which reared up above the trees and lakes along the north side. In the corner there were some coarse burlap bags, left over from last years flood season when he had prepared sandbags to build up the banks of the nearby stream. His seven thousand pennies almost filled one bag, which he hid under some odds and ends of lumber. Then the gun went down. "Vyme, baby? That you? What the hell are you doing here this hour of the night?" He… WHAT? Cartwright spluttered..
