My hand, smoothing oil on her skin, seemed to have a temper of its own: it yearned to raise itself and come down on her buttocks. "Give me an example," I said quietly. "Of something that means something. In your opinion."
(73/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P73
"Wuthering Heights ," she said, without hesitation.
The urge in my hand was growing beyond control. "But that‘s unreasonable. You‘re talking about a work of genius."
"It was, wasn‘t it? My wild sweet Cathy . God, I cried buckets. I saw it ten times."
I said, "Oh" with recognizable relief, "oh" with a shameful, rising inflection, "the movie ."
Her muscles hardened, the touch of her was like stone warmed by the sun. "Everybody has to
feel superior to somebody," she said. "But it‘s customary to present a little proof before you take the privilege."
(73/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P73
She sat up on the army cot, her face, her naked breasts coldly blue in the sun-lamp light. - P74
A person in his early fifties with a hard, weathered face, gray forlorn eyes. He wore an old sweat-stained gray hat, and his cheap summer suit, a pale blue, hung too loosely on his lanky frame; his shoes were brown and brandnew. He seemed to have no intention of ringing Holly‘s bell. Slowly, as though he were reading Braille, he kept rubbing a finger across the embossed lettering of her name. - P76
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