London ​Fields 3 csillagozás

In his bachelor days, Keith had been a regular romeo. He had been a real ladykiller. In truth, he had been quite a one. Even Keith's dog, Clive, in his dog heyday, had been no keener or less choosy or more incapable of letting a female scent go by without streaking after it with his nose on the ground and his tongue thrown over his shoulder like a scarf. Then came change, and responsibilities: Kath, his wife, and their baby girl, little Kim. And now it was all different. These days Keith kept a leash on his restless nature, restricting himself to the kind of evanescent romance that might come the way of any modern young businessman on his travels […], plus the occasional indiscretion rather closer to home […], plus the odd chance encounter made possible when fortune smiles on young lovers (closing time, pub toilet), plus three regular and longstanding girlfriends […]. And that was it.

Vintage International, p. 48

Looking round the room he felt something like bafflement or even sadness at the whole idea of human belongings: we get them in shops, then call them our own.

250. oldal Vintage International

Today's wine, yesterday's lipstick.

… Nicola, let me be your diary.

They wanted the white lie of virginity. Men were so simple. But what did that do to the thoughts of women, to the thoughts of women like Nicola Six?

Her shoulders shook as she laughed, quietly. When she laughed, her whole body shook. Her whole body laughed.

She's it. She's the naked singularity. She's beyond the black hole.

With two soft pops he freed his lower eyelids, and waited for the sluicing tears. He had begun to enter the world of duplicity. He was passing through the doors of deception, with their chains of lies. And all London swam.

True, every few years he secretly 'fell in love'.

But curiosity was still the stuff that killed the cat.