Bokelskere.no

John Bray had, besides his red sweater, a dirty suede jacket and the face of a thief.

“Not a bad climb,” Rand said.
“As the woman on the bus said when she saw the Pacific for the first time …”
“Yes?”
“I imagined it would be bigger.”

There are two Los Angeleses, they like to say, sometimes more, but in fact there is only one, six lanes wide with distant palms and one end vanishing in the sea.

Beneath them the minister, staring upward, was holding the fallen broom. “Is everything all right?” he called. He was a modern figure who disdained holy appearance; he drove a Porsche and mingled passages from various best-sellers with prayers for the dead.