Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

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Unformatted text preview: nal public gesture, as she slept on her white satin bed. He'd come home alone at eleven o'clock and gone through his clothes, packed up his suitcase and made his plans. He'd walked through the whole house. It was then that he fully sensed the differ- ence, that it was inhabited again by something he could almost feel and see. No, that was not it. The house itself talked to him; the house itself responded. Madness, perhaps, to think the house was alive, but he had known it before in mingled happiness and misery, and he knew it again, and it was better than the two wretched months of aloneness, of sickness, and drug fog, of being "half in love with easeful death" and the house in silence and without personality, witnessing nothing, having no use for him at all. He'd stared a long time at the gramophone and the pearls that lay as carelessly as Mardi Gras beads on the carpet. Priceless pearls. He could still hear Ancient Evelyn's strange voice, both deep and soft, and pretty all at once, talking on...
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