Book: Stranger. Page 2

- Do not you mind if I examined your back?
- No, you wouldn't mind - he even seemed a little surprised and a few seconds were silent, contemplating this. - Probably because you are somehow able to understand... in short, you sympathize with me, but don't feel sorry for me, and I understand that.

Alec knows who I am, so he knows that I was flogged, but the scars he saw. But knowing about something and to see different things.

Jamie responded by interjection, which I dubbed as the "Scottish snort" - an undefined sound that comes from somewhere in the depths of the larynx and could mean anything. In this particular case, it is, in my opinion, has expressed doubts about the probability of the desired output.

See, miss, it is very easy to be brave when you sit in a tavern for a mug of ale. It is much harder to have, if stuck on all fours in the frozen box, and musket bullets whistle over your head and the prickly Heather scratches the ass. But even harder to stand face to face with your enemy, when your blood is pouring all over you.

- Why did you do it?
What? he asked in reply, wiping his sleeve wet face. Gently felt the broken lip and winced.
- Took the punishment of this girl. Do you know her?
To ask was like to be awkward, but I had to know what lies behind this quixotic act.
- I know who she is, but never talked to her.
- Why did you do that? Why do it?
He shrugged and that movement made him wince.
For girls it's a shame that her risers in the lobby. It's easier for me.
"Better?" - I said in disbelief and looked at his bruised face.
He felt broken ribs with his good hand, raised his eyes and smiled at me a lopsided smile.
Yes. She is very young. It would be very shame to all who know her for a long time it would be a shame. It just hurts, but nothing special. Two days later all will pass.
But why did you? - I asked. The question clearly surprised him.
And why wouldn't I?
Why isn't he? I would say: because you don't know her. Because you are wounded. Because you need special courage to stand and face the crowd of people and getting punched in the face - regardless of what motives led you.

In older, simpler times to sleep in the presence of another person was considered an act of complete trust. If the trust was mutual, then the next dream was more intimate than a bodily connection.

- ... I woke up bound in a cart full of chickens drove me to Fort William.
You know, as gently as possible I said. - Excuse me. It was awful for you.
He suddenly smiled, and the expression of fatigue disappeared.
- Yes, chickens are very poor company, especially if you have to go long.

A well-formulated hypothesis much better than the poorly defined fact.

I stayed modest, tactful, reasonable, not exposing themselves to the fore, dressed sorhakhutte and discreet - in short, an ideal wife of a teacher and a member of the Board of the College. Exactly to the moment, as tea was served.
Remembering this, I turned my hand palm up and looked at a long blister across the base of the four fingers. In the end, it's not my fault that Mr. Bainbridge, a widower, used cheap metal tea infuser instead of porcelain or China. And it's not my fault he kindly asked me to pour out the tea. and certainly not my fault that a cloth potholder was a hole and the red-hot handle of the kettle came into direct contact with the hand.
No, I decided. to leave kettle - a completely natural reaction. The kettle fell on his knees to Mr. Bainbridge is just unfortunate coincidence: somewhere I was supposed to leave him. The only problem is that I shouted: "Damn fucking kettle!" - Yes, and still such a voice, which Mr. Bainbridge, in his turn, uttered a loud exclamation, and my Frank threw me a scathing look over the top of dish with wheat tortillas.

There is no other place on earth where superstition and witchcraft are so closely be included in everyday life, as here, in the highlands of Scotland.

- What kind of dust did you put in TASCAM and banks?
Highlander pepper. Helps with hemorrhoids.
- Preparing for my close of the age? As it is very thoughtful of you, Claire!

- I do not make empty threats, anglichanok he said, raising one eyebrow, and do not give worthless promises.

- Therefore, true to say my mother, what will come and choose me a nice girl.
He reached out his hand and helped me up, then continued:
- I answered then, what to choose - men.
What did she say? - I asked.
- She made round eyes and said, "you know, my pretty little cock, know everything myself". He laughed again. So I found out.

Passion... It's usually between a nurse and a doctor or nurse and the patient, generally between people in the chance to more or less long time community.
This often leads to short, violent novels. If all goes well, the novel blazes brightly for a few months and fizzles. And if not... well, then, pregnancy, divorce, and even ridiculous case like venereal disease. Threat - that thing is passion.