Then, without quite knowing how it happened, Dexter finds that he has fallen in love, and suddenly life is one long mini-break.
They sat in silence in the wreckage of the evening in front of two plates of unwanted food and she thought that she might cry.
Now there's a war in Europe and she has personally done absolutely nothing to stop it. Too busy shopping for furniture.
He is taken aback by this sudden rush of love he feels for Emma, and he decides to get in a cab to Earls Court and tell her how great she is, how he really, really loves her and how sexy she is if only she knew it and why not just do it, just see what happens, and if none of that works, even if they just sit up and talk, at least it will be better than being alone tonight. Whatever happens, he mustn't be alone...
These days the nights and mornings have a tendency to bleed into one another.
Jeg leste "Mannen som elsket Yngve" først, siden den ble utgitt først. Men, som sagt, så går det helt sikkert fint å lese "Kompani Orheim" først også, men tipper du får best utbytte av lesingen om du starter med "Mannen som elsket Yngve" og deretter de andre bøkene i kronologisk rekkefølge ;)
She suspects that she will never, ever dance in her bra in a room full of foam, and that's fine.
'I think you're amazing,' someone says to someone else, but it doesn't matter who, because they're all amazing really. People are amazing.
Wasn't this exactly one of the experiences she craved? Why couldn't she be more spontaneous and reckless? If she was too scared to swim without a costume how could she ever be expected to tell a man that she wanted to kiss him?
'Maybe they're in love.' 'And this is what love looks like - all wet mouths and you skirt rucked up?' 'Sometimes it is.'
'Fat girl,' she thought, 'stupid fat girl' this being one of the slogans currently playing in her head, along with 'A Third of Your Life Gone' and 'What's the Point of Anything?'
(..) feeling a ripple of anxiety pass across her shoulders at the thought of it: independent adult life. She didn't feel like an adult. She was in no way prepared. It was as if a fire alarm had gone off in the middle of the night and she was standing on the street with her clothes bundled up in her arms.
'So if I'm so awful -' His hand was on her hip now. '- which you are.' '- then why are you sleeping with me?' His hand was on the warm soft flesh of her thigh.
'So I've given this whole "growing old" thing some thought and I've come to the decision that I'd like to stay exactly as I am right now.'
Occasionally, very occasionally, say at four o’clock in the afternoon on a wet sunday, she feels panic-stricken and almost breathless with loneliness. Once or twice she has been known to pick up the phone to check that it isn’t broken. Sometimes she thinks how nice it would be to be woken up by a call in the night: ‘get in a taxi now’ or ‘I need to see you, we need to talk’.
Enig! Historien om Sara var interessant, men hvorfor forfatteren har valgt å slenge inn en lei klisjé om en middelaldrene journalist i en ekteskapkrise skjønner jeg ikke..
Nå er denne feilen fikset!
Til info: Det går i øyeblikket ikke an å laste opp profilbilder.
Dumheten kjenner ingen grenser, og sist av alt sine egne.
Igjen benytta jeg meg av mine nærmestes tragedier for å komme meg ut av egne vanskeligheter eller skaffe meg sympati.