By Barbara Hodgson
Now in paperback, this effective secret attracts readers right into a tangle of misplaced loves, vengeance, and homicide. Set at midnight global of a eu iciness, and illuminated with Barbara Hodgson's haunting illustrations, The Sensualist is a visible and literary exploration of the constraints of having a look and the boundless strength of seeing.
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Extra info for The Sensualist: An Illustrated Novel
It landed at the pile at the left. “This one was once chagrin. ” It went within the center. “This was,” she checked out the go back handle scribbled at the again, “jealousy. ” It acquired tossed at the pile at the correct. And so it went. Piles of discontent, mortification, and feedback. She sighed and fell on her again, her legs nonetheless crossed, her fingers opened up beside her, her arms kneading the duvet conceal, her brain wandering from Martin to the ladies at the educate. specially Rosa. Had she been dreaming? She doubted it. from time to time the straps of her brassiere dug into her shoulders, the folds of epidermis and fats encircling her tummy itched and flamed, her thighs—the bruisers! —her thighs ricocheted off one another, chaffing and wobbling all of the whereas. A horrid feeling. She could pull up at the straps to alleviate them in their non-existent burdens; she’d rub her flat stomach, smoothing out the imaginary folds; she’d take hold of the free textile of her trousers and stretch it extra to house the fantastical haunches. whatever approximately this was once genuine. no longer the weight—any replicate did the want of belying that concern—but the substance, containing, soaking up, assimilating. She used to be devouring or being gobbled through another’s essence and that different may possibly in simple terms be Rosa. She wrestled herself again up, moved the teapot to the bedside desk, and pulled the field nearer. selecting throughout the stuff back. now not dreaming; the following it was once. The magnifying glass, the woodcut, the torn-out web page, the finger bone, the vials. The web page into which the vials have been caught stuck her eye back. She ran her finger alongside the roughened floor of the paper, considering the fragments of hearts, picked up one of many flakes of dried medication from the damaged bottle and absently positioned it in her mouth. while she discovered what she had performed she attempted to scratch it off of her tongue, yet her opting for in basic terms broke it up into smaller fragments. Appalled by way of her stupidity and hoping that no matter what used to be within the bottle not labored, she washed it down with the remainder of her tea. The label nonetheless clung to at least one of the remnants of damaged glass. Ext. digitalis purpurea. Digitalis. middle stimulant. as though on cue, her middle began beating crazily. Why hadn’t she learn the label earlier than swallowing the stuff? Why had she caught it in her mouth within the first position? She grabbed the magnifying glass and stared via it—cockeyed sickening sensation within the gut—read the label back, learn the laptop web page, the appointment with Dr von Ehrlach. Why no longer move see him in the end? Resolutions made at ten o’clock at evening can appear lovely ridiculous at ten o’clock within the morning. in spite of the fact that, at 5 mins to the hour she discovered herself status in entrance of a bland, turn-of-the-century development on Türkenstrasse, getting ready to maintain the fairly doubtful appointment with Dr L. von Ehrlach and thankful that her response to the dried-out outdated drugs were not anything yet panic. A morose doorman carrying dense glasses with heavy translucent sky-blue frames permit Helen into the development. whereas she informed him she used to be there to work out Dr von Ehrlach, she couldn’t support yet detect his moth-eaten uniform with frayed cuffs, the strands of gold braid trailing from the sleeves, and the holes constructing alongside the seams.