George Frederick Watts The Recording AngelGeorge Frederick Watts She shall be called womanGeorge Frederick Watts Creation
special exercises —'
Keli drummed her fingers on the table, or tried to. It turned out to be difficult. She stared down in vague horror.
Cutwell hurried forward and wiped the table with his sleeve.
'Sorry,' he muttered, 'I had treacle sandwiches for supper last night.'
'What can I do?'
. You'll just have to accept it.'
He gave an apologetic grin. 'You're a lot luckier than most dead people, if you look at it objectively,' he said. 'You're alive to enjoy it.'
'I don't want to accept it. Why should I accept it? It's not my fault!'
'You don't understand. History is moving on. You can't get involved in it any more. There isn't a part in it for you, don't you see? Best to let things take their course.' He patted her 'Nothing.''Nothing?''Well, you could certainly become a very successful burglar . . . sorry. That was tasteless of me.''I thought so.'Cutwell patted her ineptly on the hand, and Keli was too preoccupied even to notice such flagrant lesè majesté.'You see, everything's fixed. History is all worked out, from start to finish. What the facts actually are is beside the point; history just rolls straight over the top of them. You can't change anything because the changes are already part of it. You're dead. It's fated
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment