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Quote by Harlan Coben

“Myron swiveled toward a voice like warm honey on Sunday pancakes. With her long, purposeful stride - not the shy-girl walk of the too-tall or the nasty strut of a model - Brenda Slaughter swept into the room like a radar-tracked weather system.”

Quote by Harlan Coben

Work

One False Move

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Harlan Coben

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“I buy what I think is a beautiful gift for Richard Pryor. It’s a pre-Civil War cigarette and match holder, with a small black child sitting on top of two yellow haystacks smoking a corncob pipe. Right before dinner, I give it to Richard. He takes one look at it and screams, “I fucking hate it!” Shocked, I ask, “Hate it? How can you hate it?” “It’s fucking racist.” "It’s fucking black art; it may have been racist but it’s not now. This is an artistic documentation of those times." Now I’m on a roll. “Open your eyes.” “I’ll open your eyes, bitch.””

“Both Richard and I sat silent and watched Jennifer Lee. She came across the room and over to us and swept our chess pieces off the board. “Bastard!” she announced and started back for the door. “No. Jennifer, I’ve had it with you. You took your clothes off in front of my son. My son came to me and he was crying and I said what’s wrong but he wouldn’t say anything. I made him tell me, Jennifer. He said you came out of your bedroom naked. You showed my son your pussy, woman!” “And you hit me,” Jennifer accused him. I realized that they were both showing off right in front of me to embarrass the other one. “And you spit in my face and called me a nigger!” he shot back. She came back. “Because I wanted to! Damn you!” “Well, just leave. I told you to leave. Now leave. I’ve done all I could for you, just leave. You would never treat Warren Beatty like you treated me. Or any of those other white boys you star-fucked.” He turned to me. “Man, can you imagine her doing that to Warren Beatty?” I said, “No!”

“The wrong things draw you in like the Sunday-sun the eyes. You would stare straight into it and wonder if there is something somewhere out there, other than depressing sunny days and lonely Sundays: something more. When you would take your eyes out of the sun again, you would only see red spots as if the light had forgotten them on your retina and then you would stand around and ponder why your eyes would always wander towards the sun, although you don't want them to and actually know that it does harm. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“Lo acaballó en la hamaca por asalto y lo amordazó con las faldas de la chilaba que él llevaba puesta, hasta dejarlo exhausto. Entonces lo revivió con un ardor y una sabiduría que él no habría imaginado en los placeres desmirriados de sus amores solitarios, y lo despojó sin gloria de su virginidad. El había cumplido cincuenta y dos años y ella veintitrés, pero la diferencia de edades era la menos perniciosa.”