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五十度灰英文版 - Part II 20
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  “I wish that, too.” I shake my head thinking about my
  mythical father. “Mom, I’ll let you go. I’ll call soon.”
  “Love you, darling.”
  “Me, too, Mom. Good-bye.”
  Christian’s kitchen is a dream to work in. For a man who
  knows nothing about cooking, he seems to have
  everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The
  only thing I need is some high quality chocolate for the
  frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling
  rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian’s
  study door. He’s concentrating on his computer screen.
  He looks up and smiles at me.
  “I’m just heading to the store to pick up some
  ingredients.”
  “Okay.” He frowns at me.
  “What?”
  “You going to put some jeans on or something?”
  Oh, come on. “Christian, they’re just legs.”
  He gazes at me, unamused. This is going to be a fight.
  And it’s his birthday. I roll my eyes at him, feeling like an
  errant teenager.
  “What if we were at the beach?” I take a different
  tack.
  “We’re not at the beach.”
  “Would you object if we were at the beach?”
  “Would you object if we were at the beach?”
  He considers this for a moment. “No,” he says simply.
  I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. “Well, just
  imagine we are. Laters.” I turn and bolt for the foyer. I
  make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As
  the doors close, I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he
  watches, helpless—but fortunately amused—with
  narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I
  can see him no more.
  Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through
  my veins, and my heart feels like it wants to exit my chest.
  But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what
  have I done?
  I have a tiger by the tail. He’s going to be mad when I
  get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her halfmoon
  glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think
  about what little experience I have with men. I’ve never
  lived with a man before—well, except Ray—and for some
  reason he doesn’t count. He’s my dad . . . well, the man I
  consider my dad.
  And now I have Christian. He’s never really lived with
  anyone, I think. I’ll have to ask him—if he’s still talking to
  me.
  But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I
  remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he
  sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given
  Neimans a better brief. Nothing too short!
  This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large
  mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I’ve
  made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the
  consequences. I wonder idly what he’ll do, but first I need
  cash.
  I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That’s
  fifty thousand dollars too much! Anastasia, you’re going
  to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes. And so it
  begins. I take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to
  the store.
  I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I
  can’t help feeling a frisson of alarm. Christian is still in his
  study. Jeez, that’s most of the afternoon. I decide my best
  option is to face him and see how much damage I’ve
  done. I peek cautiously around his study door. He’s on the
  phone, staring out the window.
  “And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday
  afternoon? . . . Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them
  that I’ll need their initial findings either Monday evening or
  Tuesday morning.” He hangs up and swivels his chair
  round, but stills when he sees me, his expression
  impassive.
  “Hi,” I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart freefalls
  into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and
  around his desk to where he’s sitting. He still says nothing,
  his eyes never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling
  fifty shades of foolish.
  fifty shades of foolish.
  “I’m back. Are you mad at me?”
  He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into
  his lap, folding his arms around me. He buries his nose in
  my hair.
  “Yes,” he says.
  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I curl
  up in his lap inhaling his heavenly Christian smell, feeling
  safe regardless of the fact that he’s mad.
  “Me neither. Wear what you like,” he murmurs. He
  runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. “Besides, this
  dress has its advantages.” He bends to kiss me, and as our
  lips touch, passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make
  amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I
  seize his head in my hands, fisting my fingers in his hair. He
  groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my
  lower lip—my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my
  mouth, and before I’m even aware of it he’s unzipping his
  pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I
  grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the
  ground . . . and we start to move.
  “I like your version of sorry,” he breathes into my hair.
  “And I like yours,” I giggle, snuggling against his chest.
  “Have you finished?”
  “Christ, Ana, you want more?”
  “No! Your work.”
  “I’ll be done in about half an hour. I heard your
  message on my voicemail.”
  message on my voicemail.”
  “From yesterday.”
  “You sounded worried.”
  I hug him tightly.
  “I was. It’s not like you not to respond.”
  He kisses my hair.
  “Your cake should be ready in half an hour.” I smile at
  him and climb off his lap.
  “Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative
  even, while it was baking.”
  I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious,
  and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so
  different? Perhaps it’s his early memories of baking.
  Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his
  mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.
  I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study,
  and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives
  me an ear-splitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I
  softly sing Happy Birthday to him. Then he leans over and
  blows it out, closing his eyes.
  “I’ve made my wish,” he says as he opens them again,
  and for some reason his look makes me flush.
  “The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it.”
  “I can’t wait to taste it, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and he
  makes that sound so rude. I cut us each a slice, and we dig
  in with small pastry forks.
  “Mmm,” he groans in appreciation. “This is why I want
  to marry you.”
  to marry you.”
  And I laugh with relief . . . he likes it.
  “Ready to face my family?” Christian switches the R8
  ignition off. We’re parked in his parents’ driveway.
  “Yes. Are you going to tell them?”
  “Of course. I’m looking forward to seeing their
  reactions.” He smiles wickedly at me and climbs out of the
  car.
  It is seven thirty, and though it’s been a warm day,
  there’s a cool evening breeze blowing off the bay. I pull
  my wrap around me as I step out of the car. I’m wearing
  an emerald green cocktail dress I found this morning while
  I was rummaging through the closet. It has a wide
  matching belt. Christian takes my hand, and we head to
  the front door. Carrick opens it wide before he can knock.
  “Christian, hello. Happy birthday, son.” He takes
  Christian’s proffered hand but pulls him into a brief hug,
  surprising him.
  “Er . . . thanks, Dad.”
  “Ana, how lovely to see you again.” He hugs me, too,
  and we follow him into the house.
  Before we can set foot in the living room, Kate comes
  barreling down the hallway toward the two of us. She
  looks furious.
  Oh no!
  “You two! I want to talk to you.” She snarls in her
  you-better-not-fucking-mess-with-me voice. I glance
  nervously at Christian, who shrugs and decides to humor
  her as we follow her into the dining room, leaving Carrick
  bemused on the threshold of the living room. She shuts the
  door and turns on me.
  “What the fuck is this?” she hisses and waves a piece
  of paper at me. Completely at a loss, I take it from her and
  scan it quickly. My mouth dries. Holy shit. It’s my e-mail
  response to Christian, discussing the contract.
  All the color drains from my face as my blood turns to ice
  and fear lances through my body. Instinctively I step
  between her and Christian.
  “What is it?” Christian murmurs, his tone wary.
  I ignore him. I cannot believe Kate is doing this.
  “Kate! This is nothing to do with you.” I glare
  venomously at her, anger replacing my fear. How dare she
  do this? Not now, not today. Not on Christian’s birthday.
  Surprised by my response, she blinks at me, green eyes
  wide.
  wide.
  “Ana, what is it?” Christian says again, his tone more
  menacing.
  “Christian, would you just go, please?” I ask him.
  “No. Show me.” He holds out his hand, and I know
  he’s not to be argued with—his voice is cold and hard.
  Reluctantly I give him the e-mail.
  “What’s he done to you?” Kate asks, ignoring
  Christian. She looks so apprehensive. I flush as a myriad
  of erotic images flit quickly across my mind.
  “That’s none of your business, Kate.” I can’t keep the
  exasperation out of my voice.
  “Where did you get this?” Christian asks, his head
  cocked to one side, his face expressionless, but his
  voice . . . so menacingly soft. Kate flushes.
  “That’s irrelevant.” At his stony glare, she hastily
  continues. “It was in the pocket of a jacket—which I
  assume is yours—that I found on the back of Ana’s
  bedroom door.” Faced with Christian’s burning gray gaze,
  Kate’s steeliness slips a little, but she seems to recover
  Kate’s steeliness slips a little, but she seems to recover
  and scowls at him.
  She’s a beacon of hostility in a slinky, bright red dress.
  She looks magnificent. But what the hell is she going
  through my clothes for? It’s usually the other way round.
  “Have you told anyone?” Christian’s voice is like a silk
  glove.
  “No! Of course not,” Kate snaps, affronted. Christian
  nods and appears to relax. He turns and heads toward the
  fireplace. Wordlessly Kate and I watch as he picks up a
  lighter from the mantelpiece, sets fire to the e-mail, and
  releases it, letting it float afire slowly into the grate until it is
  no more. The silence in the room is oppressive.
  “Not even Elliot?” I ask, turning my attention back to
  Kate.
  “No one,” Kate says emphatically, and for the first
  time she looks puzzled and hurt. “I just want to know
  you’re okay, Ana,” she whispers.
  “I’m fine, Kate. More than fine. Please, Christian and I
  are good, really good—this is old news. Please ignore it.”
  “Ignore it?” she says. “How can I ignore that? What’s
  he done to you?” And her green eyes are so full of
  heartfelt concern.
  “He hasn’t done anything to me, Kate. Honestly—I’m
  good.”
  She blinks at me.
  “Really?” she asks.
  Christian wraps an arm around me and draws me
  close, not taking his eyes off Kate.
  “Ana has consented to be my wife, Katherine,” he says
  quietly.
  “Wife!” Kate squeaks, her eyes widening in disbelief.
  “We’re getting married. We’re going to announce our
  engagement this evening,” he says.
  “Oh!” Kate gapes at me. She’s stunned. “I leave you
  alone for sixteen days, and this happens? It’s very sudden.
  So yesterday, when I said—” She gazes at me, lost.
  “Where does that e-mail fit into all this?”
  “It doesn’t, Kate. Forget it—please. I love him and he
  loves me. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin his party and our
  loves me. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin his party and our
  night,” I whisper. She blinks and unexpectedly her eyes
  are shining with tears.
  “No. Of course I won’t. You’re okay?” She wants
  reassurance.
  “I’ve never been happier,” I whisper. She reaches
  forward and grabs my hand regardless of Christian’s arm
  wrapped around me.
  “You really are okay?” she asks hopefully.
  “Yes.” I grin at her, my joy returning. She’s back
  onside. She smiles at me, my happiness reflecting back on
  her. I step out of Christian’s hold, and she hugs me
  suddenly.
  “Oh, Ana—I was so worried when I read this. I didn’t
  know what to think. Will you explain it to me?” she
  whispers.
  “One day, not now.”
  “Good. I won’t tell anyone. I love you so much, Ana,
  like my own sister. I just thought . . . I didn’t know what to

  think. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” She
  think. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” She
  looks directly at Christian and repeats her apology. He
  nods at her, his eyes glacial, and his expression does not
  change. Oh shit, he’s still mad.
  “I really am sorry. You’re right, it’s none of my
  business,” she whispers to me.
  There’s a knock on the door that startles Kate and I
  apart. Grace pokes her head around.
  “Everything okay, darling?” she asks Christian.
  “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Grey,” Kate says immediately.
  “Fine, Mom,” Christian says.
  “Good.” Grace enters. “Then you won’t mind if I give
  my son a birthday hug.” She beams at both of us. He hugs
  her tightly and thaws immediately.
  “Happy birthday, darling,” she says softly, closing her
  eyes in his embrace. “I’m so glad you’re still with us.”
  “Mom, I’m fine.” Christian smiles down at her. She
  pulls back, looks at him closely, and grins.
  “I’m so happy for you,” she says and caresses his face.
  He grins at her—his thousand megawatt smile.
  She knows! When did he tell her?
  “Well, kids, if you’ve all finished your tête-à-tête,
  there’s a throng of people here to check that you really are
  in one piece, Christian, and to wish you a happy birthday.”
  “I’ll be right there.”
  Grace glances anxiously at Kate and me and seems
  reassured by our smiles. She winks at me as she holds the
  door open for us. Christian holds out his hand to me and I
  take it.
  “Christian, I really do apologize,” Kate says humbly.
  Humble Kate is something to behold. Christian nods at
  her, and we follow her out.
  In the hallway, I gaze anxiously up at Christian. “Does
  your mother know about us?”
  “Yes.”
  “Oh.” And to think our evening could have been
  derailed by the tenacious Miss Kavanagh. I shudder at the
  thought—the ramifications of Christian’s lifestyle revealed
  to all. Holy cow.
  “Well, that was an interesting start to the evening.” I
  “Well, that was an interesting start to the evening.” I
  smile sweetly at him. He glances down at me—and it’s
  back, his amused look. Thank heavens.
  “As ever, Miss Steele, you have a gift for
  understatement.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses
  my knuckles as we walk into the living room to a sudden,
  spontaneous, and deafening round of applause.
  Crap. How many people are here?
  I scan the room quickly: all the Greys, Ethan with Mia,
  Dr. Flynn and his wife, I assume. There’s Mac from the
  boat, a tall, handsome African American—I remember
  seeing him in Christian’s office the first time I met Christian
  —Mia’s bitchy friend Lily, two women I don’t recognize
  at all, and . . . Oh no. My heart sinks. That woman . . .
  Mrs. Robinson.
  Gretchen materializes with a tray of champagne. She’s
  in a low-cut black dress, no pigtails but an updo, flushing
  and fluttering her eyelashes at Christian. The applause dies
  down, and Christian squeezes my hand as all eyes turn to
  him expectantly.
  him expectantly.
  “Thank you, everyone. Looks like I’ll need one of
  these.” He grabs two drinks off Gretchen’s tray and gives
  her a brief smile. I think Gretchen’s going to expire or
  swoon. He hands a glass to me.
  Christian raises his glass to the rest of the room, and
  immediately everyone surges forward. Leading the charge
  is the evil woman in black. Does she ever wear any other
  color?
  “Christian, I was so worried.” Elena gives him a brief
  hug and kisses both his cheeks. He doesn’t let me go
  despite the fact I try to free my hand.
  “I’m good, Elena,” Christian mutters coolly.
  “Why didn’t you call me?” Her plea is desperate, her
  eyes searching his.
  “I’ve been busy.”
  “Didn’t you get my messages?”
  Christian shifts uncomfortably and pulls me closer,
  putting his arm around me. His face remains impassive as
  he regards Elena. She can no longer ignore me, so she
  nods politely in my direction.
  “Ana,” she purrs. “You look lovely, dear.”
  “Elena,” I purr back. “Thank you.”
  I catch Grace’s eye. She frowns, watching the three of
  us.
  “Elena, I need to make an announcement,” Christian
  says, eyeing her dispassionately.
  Her clear blue eyes cloud. “Of course.” She fakes a
  smile and steps back.
  “Everyone,” Christian calls. He waits for a moment
  until the buzz in the room dies down and all eyes are once
  more on him.
  “Thank you for coming today. I have to say I was
  expecting a quiet family dinner, so this is a pleasant
  surprise.” He stares pointedly at Mia, who grins and gives
  him a little wave. Christian shakes his head in exasperation
  and continues.
  “Ros and I”—he acknowledges the red-haired woman
  standing nearby with a small bubbly blonde—“we had a
  close call yesterday.”
  close call yesterday.”
  Oh, that’s the Ros that works with him. She grins and
  raises her glass to him. He nods back at her.
  “So I’m especially glad to be here today to share with
  all of you my very good news. This beautiful woman”—he
  glances down at me—“Miss Anastasia Rose Steele, has
  consented to be my wife, and I’d like you to be the first to
  know.”
  There are general gasps of astonishment, the odd
  cheer, and then a round of applause! Jeez—this is really
  happening. I think I am the color of Kate’s dress. Christian
  grasps my chin, lifts my lips to his, and kisses me quickly.
  “You’ll soon be mine.”
  “I am already,” I whisper.
  “Legally,” he mouths at me and gives me a wicked
  grin.
  Lily, who is standing beside Mia, looks crestfallen;
  Gretchen looks like she’s eaten something nasty and bitter.
  As I glance anxiously around at the assembled crowd, I
  catch sight of Elena. Her mouth is open. She’s stunned—
  catch sight of Elena. Her mouth is open. She’s stunned—
  horrified even, and I can’t help a small but intense feeling
  of satisfaction to see her dumbstruck. What the hell is she
  doing here, anyway?
  Carrick and Grace interrupt my uncharitable thoughts,
  and soon I am being hugged and kissed and passed
  around by all the Greys.
  “Oh, Ana—I am so delighted you’re going to be
  family,” Grace gushes. “The change in Christian . . .
  He’s . . . happy. I am so thankful to you.” I blush,
  embarrassed by her exuberance but secretly delighted,
  too.
  “Where is the ring?” exclaims Mia as she embraces
  me.
  “Um . . .” A ring! Jeez. I hadn’t even thought about a
  ring. I glance anxiously up at Christian.
  “We’re going to choose one together.” Christian
  glowers at her.
  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Grey!” she scolds him,
  then wraps her arms around him. “I’m so thrilled for you,
  Christian,” she says. She’s the only person I know who is
  not intimidated by the Grey glower. It has me quailing . . .
  Well, it certainly used to.
  “When will you get married? Have you set a date?”
  She beams up at Christian.
  He shakes his head, his exasperation palpable. “No
  idea, and no we haven’t. Ana and I need to discuss all
  that,” he says irritably.
  “I hope you have a big wedding—here,” she beams
  enthusiastically, ignoring his caustic tone.
  “We’ll probably fly to Vegas tomorrow,” he growls at
  her, and he’s rewarded with a full-on Mia Grey pouty
  grimace. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Elliot, who gives him
  his second bear hug in as many days.
  “Way to go, bro.” He claps Christian’s back.
  The response from the room is overwhelming, and it’s
  a few minutes before I find myself back beside Christian
  with Dr. Flynn. Elena seems to have disappeared, and
  Gretchen is sullenly refilling champagne glasses.
  Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long,
  Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long,
  dark, almost black hair, cleavage, and lovely hazel eyes.
  “Christian,” says Flynn, holding out his hand. Christian
  shakes it gladly.
  “John. Rhian.” He kisses the dark-haired woman on
  her cheek. She’s petite and pretty.
  “Glad you’re still with us, Christian. My life would be
  most dull—and penurious—without you.”
  Christian smirks.
  “John!” Rhian scolds, much to Christian’s amusement.
  “Rhian, this is Anastasia, my fiancée. Ana, this is
  John’s wife.”
  “Delighted to meet the woman who has finally captured
  Christian’s heart.” Rhian smiles kindly at me.
  “Thank you,” I mutter, embarrassed again.
  “That was one googly you bowled there, Christian,”
  Dr. Flynn shakes his head in amused disbelief. Christian
  frowns at him.
  “John—you and your cricket metaphors.” Rhian rolls
  her eyes. “Congratulations to the pair of you and happy
  her eyes. “Congratulations to the pair of you and happy
  birthday, Christian. What a wonderful birthday present.”
  She smiles broadly at me.
  I had no idea Dr. Flynn would be here, or Elena. It’s a
  shock, and I rack my brains to see if I have anything to
  ask him, but a birthday party hardly seems the appropriate
  venue for a psychiatric consult.
  For a few minutes, we make small talk. Rhian is a stayat-
  home mom with two young boys. I deduce that she is
  the reason Dr. Flynn practices in the US.
  “She’s good, Christian, responding well to treatment.
  Another couple of weeks and we can consider an outpatient
  program.” Dr. Flynn’s and Christian’s voices are
  low, but I can’t help listening in, rather rudely tuning out
  Rhian.
  “So it’s all play-dates and diapers at the moment . . .”
  “That must take up your time.” I flush, turning my
  attention back to Rhian, who laughs sweetly. I know
  Christian and Flynn are discussing Leila.
  “Ask her something for me,” Christian murmurs.
  “So what do you do, Anastasia?”
  “Ana, please. I work in publishing.”
  Christian and Dr. Flynn lower their voices further; it’s
  so frustrating. But they stop when we’re joined by the two
  women I didn’t recognize earlier—Ros and the bubbly
  blonde whom Christian introduces as her partner, Gwen.
  Ros is charming, and I soon discover they live almost
  opposite Escala. She is full of praise for Christian’s piloting
  skills. It was her first time in Charlie Tango, and she says
  she wouldn’t hesitate to go again. She’s one of the few
  women I’ve met who isn’t dazzled by him . . . well, the
  reason is obvious.
  Gwen is giggly with a wry sense of humor, and
  Christian seems extraordinarily at ease with both of them.
  He knows them well. They don’t discuss work, but I can
  tell that Ros is one smart woman who can easily keep up
  with him. She also has a great, throaty, too-manycigarettes
  laugh.
  Grace interrupts our leisurely conversation to inform
  everyone that dinner is being served buffet-style in the
  everyone that dinner is being served buffet-style in the
  Grey kitchen. Slowly the guests make their way toward
  the back of the house.
  Mia collars me in the hallway. In her pale pink, frothy
  babydoll dress and killer heels, she towers over me like a
  Christmas tree fairy. She’s holding two cocktail glasses.
  “Ana,” she hisses conspiratorially. I glance up at
  Christian, who releases me with a best-of-luck-I-find-herimpossible-
  to-deal-with-too look, and I sneak into the
  dining room with her.
  “Here,” she says mischievously. “This is one of my
  dad’s special lemon martinis—much nicer than
  champagne.” She hands me a glass and watches anxiously
  while I take a tentative sip.
  “Hmm . . . delicious. But strong.” What does she
  want? Is she trying to get me drunk?
  “Ana, I need some advice. And I can’t ask Lily—she’s
  so judgmental about everything.” Mia rolls her eyes then
  grins at me. “She is so jealous of you. I think she was
  hoping one day that she and Christian might get together.”
  hoping one day that she and Christian might get together.”
  Mia bursts out laughing at the absurdity, and I quail inside.
  This is something I will have to contend with for a long
  time—other women wanting my man. I push the
  unwelcome thought out of my head and distract myself
  with the matter in hand. I take another sip of my martini.
  “I’ll try and help. Fire away.”
  “As you know, Ethan and I met recently, thanks to
  you.” She beams at me.
  “Yes.” Where the hell is she going with this?

  “Ana—he doesn’t want to date me.” She pouts.
  “Oh.” I blink at her, stunned, and I think, Maybe he’s
  just not that into you.
  “Look, that sounded all wrong. He doesn’t want to
  date because his sister is going out with my brother. You
  know—he thinks it’s all kind of incestuous. But I know he
  likes me. What can I do?”
  “Oh, I see,” I mutter, trying to buy myself some time.
  What can I say? “Can you agree to be friends and give it
  some time? I mean you’ve only just met him.”
  She cocks her eyebrow and I flush.
  “Look, I know I’ve only really just met Christian
  but . . .” I scowl at her not sure what I want to say. “Mia,
  this is something you and Ethan have to work out together.
  I would try the friendship route.”
  Mia grins.
  “You’ve learned that look from Christian.”
  I flush. “If you want advice, ask Kate. She may have
  some insight as to how her brother feels.”
  “You think?” Mia asks.
  “Yes.” I smile encouragingly.
  “Cool. Thanks, Ana.” She gives me another hug and
  scuttles excitedly—and impressively, given her high heels
  —to the door, no doubt off to bother Kate. I take another
  sip of my martini, and I’m about to follow her when I am
  stopped in my tracks.
  Elena breezes into the room, her face taut, set in grim,
  angry determination. She closes the door quietly behind
  her and scowls at me.
  Oh crap.
  Oh crap.
  “Ana,” she sneers.
  I summon all my self-possession, slightly fuzzy from
  two glasses of champagne and the lethal cocktail I hold in
  my hand. I think the blood has drained from my face, but I
  marshal both my subconscious and my inner goddess in
  order to appear as calm and as unflappable as I can.
  “Elena.” My voice is small, but steady—despite my
  dry mouth. Why does this woman freak me out so much?
  And what does she want now?
  “I would offer you my heartfelt congratulations, but I
  think that would be inappropriate.” Her piercing cold blue
  eyes stare frostily into mine, filled with loathing.
  “I neither need nor want your congratulations, Elena.
  I’m surprised and disappointed to see you here.”
  She arches an eyebrow. I think she’s impressed.
  “I wouldn’t have thought of you as a worthy adversary,
  Anastasia. But you surprise me at every turn.”
  “I haven’t thought of you at all,” I lie, coolly. Christian
  would be proud. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much
  would be proud. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much
  better things to do than waste my time with you.”
  “Not so fast, missy,” she hisses, leaning against the
  door, effectively blocking it. “What on earth do you think
  you’re doing, consenting to marry Christian? If you think
  for one minute you can make him happy, you’re very much
  mistaken.”
  “What I’m consenting to do with Christian is none of
  your concern.” I smile with sarcastic sweetness. She
  ignores me.
  “He has needs—needs you cannot possibly begin to
  satisfy,” she gloats.
  “What do you know of his needs?” I snarl. My sense
  of indignation flares brightly, burning inside me as
  adrenaline surges through my body. How dare this fucking
  bitch preach to me? “You’re nothing but a sick child
  molester, and if it was up to me, I’d toss you into the
  seventh circle of hell and walk away smiling. Now get out
  of my way—or do I have to make you?”
  “You’re making a big mistake here, lady.” She shakes
  a long, skinny, finely manicured finger at me. “How dare
  you judge our lifestyle? You know nothing, and you have
  no idea what you’re getting yourself into. And if you think
  he’s going to be happy with a mousy little gold-digger like
  you . . .”
  That’s it ! I throw the rest of my lemon martini in her
  face, drenching her.
  “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m getting myself into!” I
  shout at her. “When will you learn? It’s none of your
  goddamned business!”
  She gapes at me, horror struck, wiping the sticky drink
  off her face. I think she’s about to lunge at me, but she’s
  suddenly shunted forward as the door opens.
  Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a
  nanosecond to assess the situation—me ashen and
  shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and
  contorts with anger as he comes to stand between us.
  “What the fuck are you doing, Elena?” he says, his
  voice glacial and laced with menace.
  She blinks up at him. “She’s not right for you,
  She blinks up at him. “She’s not right for you,
  Christian,” she whispers.
  “What?” he shouts, startling both of us. I can’t see his
  face but his whole body has tensed, and he radiates
  animosity.
  “How the fuck do you know what’s right for me?”
  “You have needs, Christian,” she says her voice softer.
  “I’ve told you before—this is none of your fucking
  business,” he roars. Oh crap—Very Angry Christian has
  reared his not-so-ugly head. People are going to hear.
  “What is this?” He pauses, glaring at her. “Do you
  think it’s you? You? You think you’re right for me?” His
  voice is softer but drips contempt, and suddenly I don’t
  want to be here. I don’t want to witness this intimate
  encounter. I’m intruding. But I’m stuck—my limbs
  unwilling to move.
  Elena swallows and seems to draw herself upright. Her
  stance changes subtly, becomes more commanding, and
  she steps toward him.
  “I was the best thing that ever happened to you,” she
  “I was the best thing that ever happened to you,” she
  hisses arrogantly at him. “Look at you now. One of the
  richest, most successful, entrepreneurs in the US—
  controlled, driven—you need nothing. You are master of
  your universe.”
  He steps back as if he’s been struck and gapes at her
  in outraged disbelief.
  “You loved it, Christian, don’t try and kid yourself.
  You were on the road to self-destruction, and I saved you
  from that, saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me,
  baby, that’s where you would have ended up. I taught you
  everything you know, everything you need.”
  Christian blanches, staring at her in horror. When he
  speaks, his voice is low and incredulous.
  “You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it’s empty,
  like you. No wonder Linc left.”
  Bile rises in my mouth. I should not be here. But I’m
  frozen to the spot, morbidly fascinated as they eviscerate
  each other.
  “You never once held me,” Christian whispers. “You
  never once said you loved me.”
  She narrows her eyes. “Love is for fools, Christian.”
  “Get out of my house.” Grace’s implacable, furious
  voice startles us. Three heads swing rapidly to where
  Grace stands on the threshold of the room. She is glaring
  at Elena, who pales beneath her St. Tropez tan.
  Time seems suspended as we collectively take a deep
  gasping breath, and Grace stalks deliberately into the
  room. Her eyes blaze with fury, never once leaving Elena,
  until she stands before her. Elena’s eyes widen in alarm,
  and Grace slaps her hard across the face, the sound of the
  impact resounding off the walls of the dining room.
  “Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get
  out of my house—now!” she hisses through gritted teeth.
  Elena clutches her reddening cheek and stares in
  horror for a moment, shocked and blinking at Grace. Then
  she hurries from the room, not bothering to close the door
  behind her.
  Grace turns slowly to face Christian and a tense silence
  settles like a thick blanket over us as Christian and Grace
  settles like a thick blanket over us as Christian and Grace
  stare at each other. After a beat, Grace speaks.
  “Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind
  giving me a minute or two alone with my son?” Her voice
  is quiet, husky, but oh-so-strong.
  “Of course,” I whisper, and exit as quickly as I can,
  glancing anxiously over my shoulder. But neither of them
  look at me as I leave. They continue to stare at each other,
  their unspoken communication blaringly loud.
  In the hallway, I am momentarily lost. My heart pounds
  and my blood races through my veins . . . I feel panicked
  and out of my depth. Holy fuck, that was heavy and now
  Grace knows. Crap. I can’t think what she’s going to say
  to Christian, and I know it’s wrong, I know, but I lean
  against the door trying to listen.
  “How long, Christian?” Grace’s voice is soft. I can
  barely hear her.
  I cannot hear his reply.
  “How old were you?” Her voice is more insistent. “Tell
  me. How old were you when this all started?” Again I
  me. How old were you when this all started?” Again I
  can’t hear Christian.
  “Everything okay, Ana?” Ros interrupts me.
  “Yes. Fine. Thank you. I . . .”
  Ros smiles. “I’m just going to fetch my purse. I need a
  cigarette.”
  For a brief moment, I contemplate joining her.
  “I’m off to the bathroom.” I need to gather my wits
  and my thoughts, to process what I’ve just witnessed and
  heard. Upstairs seems the safest place to be on my own. I
  watch Ros stroll into the drawing room, and I bolt two
  stairs at a time to the second floor, then up to the third.
  There’s only one place I want to be.
  I open the door to Christian’s childhood bedroom and
  shut it behind me, taking a huge gulping breath. Heading
  for his bed, I flop onto it and stare at the plain white
  ceiling.
  Holy cow. That has to be, without doubt, one of the
  most excruciating confrontations I’ve ever had to endure,
  and now I feel numb. My fiancé and his ex-lover—no
  would-be bride should have to see that. Having said that,
  part of me is glad she’s revealed her true self, and that I
  was there to bear witness.
  My thoughts turn to Grace. Poor Grace, to hear all
  that. I clutch one of Christian’s pillows. She’ll have
  overheard that Christian and Elena had an affair—but not
  the nature of it. Thank heavens. I groan.
  What am I doing? Perhaps the evil witch had a point.
  No, I refuse to believe that. She’s so cold and cruel. I
  shake my head. She’s wrong. I am right for Christian. I am
  what he needs. And in a moment of stunning clarity, I
  don’t question how he’s lived his life until recently—but
  why. His reasons for doing what he’s done to countless
  girls—I don’t even want to know how many. The how
  isn’t wrong. They were all adults. They were all—how did
  Flynn put it?—in safe, sane, consensual relationships. It’s
  the why. The why was wrong. The why was from his place
  of darkness.
  I close my eyes and drape my arm over them. But now
  he’s moved on, left it behind, and we are both in the light.
  he’s moved on, left it behind, and we are both in the light.
  I’m dazzled by him and he by me. We can guide each
  other. A thought occurs to me. Shit! A gnawing, insidious
  thought and I’m in the one place where I can lay this ghost
  to rest. I sit up. Yes, I must do this.
  Shakily I get to my feet, kick off my shoes, walk over
  to his desk, and examine the pin board above it. The
  photos of young Christian are all still there—more poignant
  than ever as I think of the spectacle I’ve just witnessed
  between him and Mrs. Robinson. And there in the corner
  is the small black and white photo—his mother, the crack
  whore.
  I switch on the desk lamp and focus the light on her
  picture. I don’t even know her name. She looks so much
  like him but younger and sadder and all I feel, looking at
  her sorrowful face, is compassion. I try to see the
  similarities between her face and mine. I squint at the
  picture, getting really, really close, and see none. Except
  maybe our hair, but I think hers is lighter than mine. I don’t
  look like her at all. It’s a relief.
  look like her at all. It’s a relief.
  My subconscious tuts at me, arms crossed, glaring
  over her half-moon glasses. Why are you torturing
  yourself? You’ve said yes. You’ve made your bed. I
  purse my lips at her. Yes I have, gladly so. I want to lie in
  that bed with Christian for the rest of my life. My inner
  goddess, sitting in the lotus position, smiles serenely. Yes.
  I’ve made the right decision.
  I must find him—Christian will be worried. I have no
  idea how long I’ve been in his room; he’ll think that I’ve
  fled. I roll my eyes as I contemplate his overreaction. I
  hope that he and Grace have finished. I shudder to think
  what else she might have said to him.
  I meet Christian as he climbs the stairs to the second
  floor, looking for me. His face is strained and weary—not
  the carefree Fifty I arrived with. As I stand on the landing,

  he stops on the top stair so that we are eye to eye.
  “Hi,” he says cautiously.
  “Hi,” I answer warily.
  “I was worried—”
  “I know,” I interrupt him. “I’m sorry—I couldn’t face
  the festivities. I just had to get away, you know. To think.”
  Reaching up, I caress his face. He closes his eyes and
  leans his face into my hand.
  “And you thought you’d do that in my room?”
  “Yes.”
  He reaches for my hand and pulls me into an embrace,
  and I go willingly into his arms, my favorite place in the
  whole world. He smells of fresh laundry, body wash, and
  Christian—the most calming and arousing scent on the
  planet. He inhales with his nose in my hair.
  “I’m sorry you had to endure all that.”
  “It’s not your fault, Christian. Why was she here?” He
  gazes down at me, and his mouth curls apologetically.
  “She’s a family friend.”
  I try not to react. “Not any more. How’s your mom?”
  “Mom is pretty fucking mad at me right now. I’m really
  glad you’re here, and that we’re in the middle of a party.
  Otherwise I might be breathing my last.”
  “That bad, huh?”
  “That bad, huh?”
  He nods, his eyes serious, and I sense his
  bewilderment at her reaction.
  “Can you blame her?” My voice is quiet, cajoling.
  He hugs me tightly and he seems uncertain, processing
  his thoughts.
  Finally he answers. “No.”
  Whoa! Breakthrough. “Can we sit?” I ask.
  “Sure. Here?”
  I nod and we both sit at the top of the stairs.
  “So, how do you feel?” I ask, anxiously clutching his
  hand and gazing at his sad, serious face.
  He sighs.
  “I feel liberated.” He shrugs, then beams—a glorious,
  carefree Christian smile, and the weariness and strain
  present moments ago have vanished.
  “Really?” I beam back. Wow, I’d crawl over broken
  glass for that smile.
  “Our business relationship is over. Done.”
  I frown at him. “Will you liquidate the salon business?”
  I frown at him. “Will you liquidate the salon business?”
  He snorts. “I’m not that vindictive, Anastasia,” he
  admonishes me. “No. I’ll gift them to her. I’ll talk to my
  lawyer Monday. I owe her that much.”
  I arch an eyebrow at him. “No more Mrs. Robinson?”
  His mouth twists in amusement and he shakes his head.
  “Gone.”
  I grin.
  “I’m sorry you lost a friend.”
  He shrugs then smirks. “Are you?”
  “No,” I confess, flushing.
  “Come.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s join
  the party in our honor. I might even get drunk.”
  “Do you get drunk?” I ask as I take his hand.
  “Not since I was a wild teenager.” We walk down the
  stairs.
  “Have you eaten?” he asks.
  Oh crap.
  “No.”
  “Well you should. From the look and smell of Elena,
  that was one of my father’s lethal cocktails you threw over
  her.” He gazes at me, trying and failing to keep the
  amusement off his face.
  “Christian, I—”
  He holds up his hand.
  “No arguing, Anastasia. If you’re going to drink—and
  throw alcohol over my exes—you need to eat. It’s rule
  number one. I believe we’ve already had that discussion
  after our first night together.”
  Oh yes. The Heathman.
  Back in the hallway, he pauses to caress my face, his
  fingers skimming my jaw.
  “I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep,” he
  murmurs. “I might have loved you even then.”
  Oh.
  He leans down and kisses me softly, and I melt
  everywhere, all the tension of the last hour or so seeping
  languidly from my body.
  “Eat,” he whispers.
  “Okay,” I acquiesce because right now I’d probably
  “Okay,” I acquiesce because right now I’d probably
  do anything for him. Taking my hand, he leads me toward
  the kitchen where the party is in full swing.
  “Goodnight, John, Rhian.”
  “Congratulations again, Ana. You two will be just
  fine.” Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at us, standing arm in arm in
  the hallway as he and Rhian take their leave.
  “Goodnight.”
  Christian closes the door and shakes his head. He
  gazes down at me, his eyes suddenly bright with
  excitement.
  What’s this?
  “Just the family left. I think my mother has had too
  much to drink.” Grace is singing karaoke on some game
  console in the family room. Kate and Mia are giving her a
  run for her money.
  “Do you blame her?” I smirk at him, trying to keep the
  atmosphere between us light. I succeed.
  atmosphere between us light. I succeed.
  “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”
  “I am.”
  “It’s been quite a day.”
  “Christian, recently, every day with you has been quite
  a day.” My voice is sardonic.
  He shakes his head. “Fair point well made, Miss
  Steele. Come—I want to show you something.” Taking
  my hand, he leads me through the house to the kitchen
  where Carrick, Ethan, and Elliot are talking Mariners,
  drinking the last of the cocktails, and eating leftovers.
  “Off for a stroll?” Elliot teases suggestively as we make
  our way through the French doors. Christian ignores him.
  Carrick frowns at Elliot, shaking his head in a silent
  rebuke.
  As we make our way up the steps to the lawn, I take
  off my shoes. The half-moon shines brightly over the bay.
  It’s brilliant, casting everything in myriad of shades of gray
  as the lights of Seattle twinkle sweetly in the distance. The
  lights of the boathouse are on, a soft glowing beacon in the
  lights of the boathouse are on, a soft glowing beacon in the
  cool cast of the moon.
  “Christian, I’d like to go to church tomorrow.”
  “Oh?”
  “I prayed you’d come back alive and you did. It’s the
  least I could do.”
  “Okay.”
  We wander hand in hand in a relaxed silence for a few
  moments. Then something occurs to me.
  “Where are you going to put the photos José took of
  me?”
  “I thought we might put them in the new house.”
  “You bought it?”
  He stops to stare at me, and his voice full of concern.
  “Yes. I thought you liked it.”
  “I do. When did you buy it?”
  “Yesterday morning. Now we need to decide what to
  do with it,” he murmurs, relieved.
  “Don’t knock it down. Please. It’s such a lovely house.
  It just needs some tender loving care.”
  Christian glances at me and smiles. “Okay. I’ll talk to
  Elliot. He knows a good architect; she did some work on
  my place is Aspen. He can do the remodeling.”
  I snort, suddenly remembering the last time we crossed
  the lawn under the moonlight to the boathouse. Oh,
  perhaps that’s what we’re going to do now. I grin.
  “What?”
  “I remember the last time you took me to the
  boathouse.”
  Christian chuckles quietly. “Oh, that was fun. In
  fact . . .” He suddenly stops and scoops me over his
  shoulder, and I squeal, though we don’t have far to go.
  “You were really angry, if I remember correctly,” I
  gasp.
  “Anastasia, I’m always really angry.”
  “No you’re not.”
  He swats my behind as he stops outside the wooden
  door. He slides me down his body back to the ground and
  takes my head in his hands.
  “No, not anymore.” Leaning down, he kisses me, hard.
  “No, not anymore.” Leaning down, he kisses me, hard.
  When he pulls away, I’m breathless and desire is racing
  round my body.
  He gazes down at me, and in the glow of the strip of
  light coming from inside the boathouse, I can see he’s
  anxious. My anxious man, not a white knight or a dark
  knight, but a man—a beautiful, not-quite-so-fucked-up
  man—whom I love. I reach up and caress his face, running
  my fingers through his sideburns and along his jaw to his
  chin, then let my index finger touch his lips. He relaxes.
  “I’ve something to show you in here,” he murmurs and
  opens the door.
  The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the
  impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the
  dark water. There’s a row boat beside it.
  “Come.” Christian takes my hand and leads me up the
  wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside
  to let me in.
  My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is
  unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers . . . there
  unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers . . . there
  are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical
  bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with
  glowing fairy lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft
  and pale round the room.
  My face whips round to meet his, and he’s gazing at
  me, his expression unreadable. He shrugs.
  “You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.
  I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
  “You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room.
  “And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his
  sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.” I can’t think of what else
  to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.
  Tugging my hand, he pulls me into the room, and
  before I know it, he’s sinking to one knee in front of me.
  Holy hell . . . I did not expect this! I stop breathing.
  From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and
  gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of
  emotion.
  “Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish,
  and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always.
  Share my life with me. Marry me.”
  I blink down at him as my tears fall. My Fifty, my man.
  I love him so, and all I can say as the tidal wave of
  emotion hits me is, “Yes.”
  He grins, relieved, and slowly slides the ring on my
  finger. It’s beautiful, an oval diamond in a platinum ring.
  Jeez—it’s big . . . Big, but oh-so-simple and stunning in its
  simplicity.
  “Oh, Christian,” I sob, suddenly overwhelmed with
  joy, and I join him on my knees, my fingers fisting in his
  hair as I kiss him, kiss him with all my heart and soul. Kiss
  this beautiful man, who loves me as I love him; and as he
  wraps his arms around me, his hands moving to my hair,
  his mouth on mine. I know deep down I will always be his,
  and he will always be mine. We’ve come so far together,
  we have so far to go, but we are made for each other. We
  are meant to be.
  The cigarette end glows brightly in the darkness as he
  takes a deep pull. He blows the smoke out in a long
  exhale, finishing with two smoke rings that dissolve in front
  of him, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He shifts in his
  seat, bored, and takes a quick shot of cheap bourbon
  from a bottle wrapped in shabby brown paper before
  resting it back between his thighs.
  He can’t believe he’s still on the trail. His mouth twists
  in a sardonic sneer. The helicopter had been a rash and
  bold move. One of the most exhilarating things he’d ever
  done in his life. But to no avail. He rolls his eyes ironically.
  Who would have thought the son-of-a-bitch could
  actually fly the fucker?
  He snorts.
  They have underestimated him. If Grey thought for one
  minute he’d go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick
  minute he’d go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick
  didn’t know jack shit.
  It had been the same all his life. People constantly
  underestimating him—just a man who reads books. Fuck
  that! A man with a photographic memory who reads
  books. Oh, the things he’s learned, the things he knows.
  He snorts again—Yeah, about you, Grey. The things I
  know about you.
  Not bad for a kid from the gutter end of Detroit.
  Not bad for the kid who won a scholarship to
  Princeton.
  Not bad for the kid who worked his ass off through
  college and got into publishing.
  And now all of that’s fucked, fucked because of Grey
  and his little bitch. He scowls at the house as if it
  represents everything he despises. But there’s nothing
  doing. The only drama had been the stacked, blond broad
  in black, teetering down the driveway in tears before she
  climbed into the white CLK and fucked off.
  He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs.
  He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs.
  Still sore from the swift kicking Grey’s henchman
  delivered.
  He replays the scene in his mind. “You fucking touch
  Miss Steele again, I’ll fucking kill you.”
  That motherfucker will get it good, too. Yeah—get
  what’s coming to him.
  He settles back in his seat. Looks like it’s going to be
  a long night. He’ll stay, watch, and wait. He takes
  another toke of his Marlboro red. His chance will come.
  His chance will come soon.
  End of Part Two . . .
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作者:佚名
章节:15 人气:0
摘要:第一场乐师家里的一房间。米勒正从圈椅里站起来,把大提琴靠在一旁。米勒太太坐在桌旁喝咖啡,还穿着睡衣。米勒(很快地踱来踱去)事情就这么定了。情况正变得严重起来。我的女儿和男爵少爷已成为众人的话柄。我的家已遭人笑骂。宰相会得到风声的——一句话,我不准那位贵公子再进咱家的门。 [点击阅读]
阿尔谢尼耶夫的一生
作者:佚名
章节:36 人气:0
摘要:p{text-indent:2em;}一“世间的事物,还有许多未被写下来的,这或出于无知,或出于健忘,要是写了下来,那确实是令人鼓舞的……”半个世纪以前,我出生于俄罗斯中部,在我父亲乡间的一个庄园里。我们没有自己的生与死的感觉。 [点击阅读]
随感集
作者:佚名
章节:19 人气:0
摘要:白开元译1梦,我心灵的流萤,梦,我心灵的水晶,在沉闷漆黑的子夜,闪射着熠熠光泽。2火花奋翼,赢得瞬间的韵律,在飞翔中熄灭,它感到喜悦。3我的深爱如阳光普照,以灿烂的自由将你拥抱。4①亲爱的,我羁留旅途,光阴枉掷,樱花已凋零,喜的是遍野的映山红显现出你慰藉的笑容。--------①这首诗是赠给徐志摩的。1924年泰戈尔访毕,诗人徐志摩是他的翻译。 [点击阅读]
隐身人
作者:佚名
章节:58 人气:0
摘要:冬天的最后一场大雪,使二月初的高原变得格外寒冷。一个陌生人,冒着刺骨的寒风和漫天飞舞的雪花,从布兰勃赫斯特火车站走来。他浑身上下裹得严严实实,一顶软毡帽的帽檐几乎遮住了他整个脸,只露出光亮的鼻尖。套着厚手套的手,费力地提着一只黑色小皮箱。雪花飘落在他的胸前、肩头,黑色的小皮箱也盖上了白白的一层。这位冻得四肢僵直的旅客跌跌撞撞地走进“车马旅店”,随即把皮箱往地上一扔。“快生个火。 [点击阅读]
隔墙有眼
作者:佚名
章节:13 人气:0
摘要:1六点钟过了。一小时前去专务董事办公室的会计科科长还没有回来。专务董事兼营业部主任有单独的办公室,和会计科分开。天空分外清澄。从窗外射进来的光线已很薄弱,暮色苍茫。室内灯光幽暗。十来个科员没精打采,桌上虽然摊开着贴本,却无所事事。五点钟下班时间一过,其他科只剩下两三个人影,唯有这会计科像座孤岛似地亮着灯,人人满脸倦容。 [点击阅读]
雪国
作者:佚名
章节:29 人气:0
摘要:【一】你好,川端康成自杀的原因是因为:他是个没有牵挂的人了,为了美的事业,他穷尽了一生的心血,直到七十三岁高龄,还每周三次伏案写作。但他身体不好,创作与《雪国》齐名的《古都》后,住进了医院内科,多年持续不断用安眠药,从写作《古都》之前,就到了滥用的地步。 [点击阅读]
雪地上的女尸
作者:佚名
章节:6 人气:0
摘要:1“非常抱歉……”赫尔克里-波洛先生答道。他还没说完就被打断了。打断得不鲁莽,很委婉且富有技巧性,确切他说是说服,而不是制造矛盾与不和的打断。“请不要马上拒绝,波洛先生。这件事事关重大,对你的合作我们将感激不尽。”“你大热情了。 [点击阅读]
雪莱诗集
作者:佚名
章节:50 人气:0
摘要:孤独者1在芸芸众生的人海里,你敢否与世隔绝,独善其身?任周围的人们闹腾,你却漠不关心;冷落,估计,像一朵花在荒凉的沙漠里,不愿向着微风吐馨?2即使一个巴利阿人在印度丛林中,孤单、瘦削、受尽同胞的厌恶,他的命运之杯虽苦,犹胜似一个不懂得爱的可怜虫:背着致命的负荷,贻害无穷,那永远摆脱不了的担负。 [点击阅读]