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madunst 's review for:
Little Bee
by Chris Cleave
"Serious times. Once they have rolled in, they hand over you like low cumulus... I think I must have been depressed too, the whole time. You travel here and you travel there, trying to get out from under the cloud, and nothing works, and then one day you realize you've been carrying the weather around with you." (168)
"I banged my damaged hand down on the table, fingers splayed out. 'I cut off my finger for that girl. Will you tell me when is the logical point to stop something that started like that? Do you really want me to make a choice like that? I cut off my own bloody finger. Do you think I wouldn't cut you off too?'" (174)
"After six steps I was inside the crowd, getting pushed this way and that way. I did not mind and I did not look back. I let myself be taken along this river of human souls that flowed beside the water. I was happy. I smelled the mud on the banks of the river and the dust of the gray pigeons' wings and the flat dry smell of the ancient stone buildings and the hot breath of cigarettes and chewing gum that floated through the crowd. Everyone was taking and shouting in all the languages they had carried with them to release in that place, and the words mingled in the London air which understood them all. I listened very carefully to the sound of the city and I wondered what name it would whisper me to call myself." (221)
"I banged my damaged hand down on the table, fingers splayed out. 'I cut off my finger for that girl. Will you tell me when is the logical point to stop something that started like that? Do you really want me to make a choice like that? I cut off my own bloody finger. Do you think I wouldn't cut you off too?'" (174)
"After six steps I was inside the crowd, getting pushed this way and that way. I did not mind and I did not look back. I let myself be taken along this river of human souls that flowed beside the water. I was happy. I smelled the mud on the banks of the river and the dust of the gray pigeons' wings and the flat dry smell of the ancient stone buildings and the hot breath of cigarettes and chewing gum that floated through the crowd. Everyone was taking and shouting in all the languages they had carried with them to release in that place, and the words mingled in the London air which understood them all. I listened very carefully to the sound of the city and I wondered what name it would whisper me to call myself." (221)