Sunday, October 25, 2009

Literary fur

"The swine," the colonel hissed, and turned to me. "Come on, doctor, bandage me up. Out you go lad," he said to the soldier, who clumped noisily out of the door. The house was silent. Then the window frame shook. "Guns," I thought, shuddering, and asked:
"How did it happen?"
"With a pen knife," the colonel answered with a frown.
"Who did it?"
"None of your business," he retorted with a cold, spiteful malevolence, and added:
"Ah, doctor, you're really in for trouble."
Then it suddenly came to me: someone had been unable to endure his torture any longer, had made a rush for him and wounded him. That was the only way it could have happened.
"Take off the gauze," I said and bent down to his chest with its thick growth of black hair. But before he had time to remove the blood-stained rag we heard footsteps outside the door...

From The Murderer by Mikhail Bulgakov

Slippery, with names and ages too

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Tuesday, October 20, 2009