Sylvie's Riddle
“He picked up one of his first wife Isabella, lying on the beach, her eyes shut. It made him think of her when she was sleeping: she was such a tidy, regulated sort of a person. Only at night did curious sighs and coded signals start to escape from her mouth. So many complaints. A murmurous little riot between the sheets. The hermetic protest her soul permitted itself while Isabella's daytime mind was on the blink. When the god of money finally closed his eyes. She had creatures locked inside he...r who never saw the light of day. So when her mind had been switched off when these hidden creatures could wander at last through the deserted playground of her spirit, so many dead streets left vacant in the hours of darkness, they all spoke at once in urgent whispers. Henry used to lie there and listen, fascinated, beguiled. He'd wanted to meet them; wanted to run a phrenological hand across their little skulls to locate the bumps, so that he might map the miniature topographies of their souls.MoreLess
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