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(This thread died a while back and I felt like reviving it. I have a feeling I may have gotten the idea to read this book from someone using it before. Oh well. :-) )
"Go ahead," she said. "Try these one." He stood there motionless.
"Did these come off dead people?" he asked.
"Who knows?" she asked. "Just put them on. The pant and long jacket first."
"Did you know the bubonic plague was cause by fleas in people's clothes?" Y asked her.
She ignored him and pushed him into a cubicle. "Put them on," she insisted. She waited. And waited. "What's taking so long?" X called in to him.
The dressing room door opened very slowly. Y stepped out wering an outfit that looked a lot like the one Lincoln might have been shot in. The black frock coat was to his knees, and the long striped pants--well, he'd never be a Goth. X snapped a photo, then gave him a thumbs-down. "Thank God," Y muttered, obviously relieved and disappeared back into the dressing room.
In a few minutes, the door opened again. This time, Y was in an Austin Powers jumpsuit with a puffed-sleeve shirt. Had she picked that out? X was horrified. He looked like a gay space clown.
"That isn't for you," she said. "Where did you find it?"
"It was here on the rack," Y said, shrugging.
She looked into the dressing room. There was also an orange overall and an aqua calf-length skirt. "Were you going to try that on?" she asked...
She took the extra stuff out of the room and pointed to the garment shs ehad selected. "Only these," she told him. "This other junk must have been left behind by some circus carnies."
Last Edited on: 3/31/08 6:54 PM ET - Total times edited: 1
Alright...I always end up laughing everytime I read this scene. Not sure how funny it is, but I do have a rather perverse sense of humor, so maybe that's it. :o) So, I give to you a bit of (edited for brevity) "swordplay":
"May I touch the symbols?" she asked.
"Be careful, my dear," Mrs. X called from the other end of the table.
"Yes," he said, "don't cut yourself. This is a working sword."
"A very hardworking sword, I'm sure." Its numerous nicks and worn spots attested to that. Y fingered each one, wondering where it had been acquired. "Did you carry it at Derna?"
"No. My government only issued the mameluke to the rest of us after Hamet presented O'Bannon with his."
"It's astonishing." She skimmed her fingers down the blade. "You keep your sword in excellent condition, Major Z."
"I do my best." His voice sounded rather choked.
She glanced up to find him staring at her hand as she stroked down the blade, then up again. What was wrong with him? It wasn't as if she could hurt the steel by touching it, From the way he stared, she'd have thought the sword was a living thing, for goodness sake.
Surely he was not...he did not imagine that she...
Deciding to test that possibility, she caressed the sword again, this time with a lingering loving touch. "It's truly magnificent," she gushed.
He went rigid, a muscle working in his jaw. "Thank you."
"I've never seen such a fine piece of work." Delighted by the results of her experiment, she stroked the weapon up and down.
His hand shot out to halt hers. "You might hurt yourself. The blade is sharp."
"It certainly is," she said coyly. She moved her hand away...only to clasp the hilt.
His audible groan made her want to crow aloud.
She hondled the hilt. "Would you let me do a rubbing of it?"
His gaze shot to hers, and the heat in his eyes gave her apuse. "A rubbing?" he said hoarsely, "Of my...er...sword?"
"Yes. I'd take care not to use too much pressure." She miled sweetly, though his smoldering gaze mate it difficult for her to breathe. "But I doubt I could harm it, as hard as it is."
"You have no idea." Without warning, he sat down rather stiffly in a chair and pulled it up to the table.
She is very fond of sexual metaphor, especially the sword and scabbard.
Oh goody, now I can post this one I've been holding on to...
It was when they heard a female squeal followed by a crash that one of the miners said, "I got twenty bucks that says they don't come out 'fore mornin'."
"You're on," said another man.
It had started out as a simple diversion, but when Edith took breakfast to the opera singer and her man the next morning and the couple asked her to bring them the jar of rose-scented oil from X's trunk, that's when the betting began in earnest.
The bet on the amount of time that X and Y would stay in the cabin. Since there were so many miners, they had to take bets on the hour that they would emerge. Toby found that young L. had had proper training from a man named Bailey and she knew all about odds on betting. J. had protested against someone of L's youth and innocent being involved in such a thing as betting on the sexual habits of her sister. He said this even as he put ten dollars down that said his brother couldn't last more than forty-eight hours.
"Shaking cabin," L. said, looking at her notebook. "TIm Sullian." She opened the box (she also took care of the bags of gold dust) and paid the man. "I told you not to take that bet," L. whispered to Toby. "You were bound to lose."
"What do you know?" he growled. "You were the one that wanted that five hundred candle bet. And the honey bet. And the bathtub bet."
"Ah, but we made it back when they asked for the milk to put in the tub. Nobody had milk bath."
"No more bets, J.?" L. asked him as she counted the bags of gold dust in her box. She had somewhere obtained a weighing scale to accurately measure the gold she and Toby took in.
He pushed his hat down over his eyes. "The pride I have in my brother is more than enough reward for me."
"Shhh," Laurel said, and all the men around her became very still, their eyes on the cabin on the hill.
"What is it?" Toby whispered.
L. smiled. "That's Carmen."
There was immediate confusion as the men began scrambling to reclaim and pay off their bets.
There was a loud crash from the cabin and a corresponding shout of triumph from the miners.
L. look at her book. "Fell off the piano for the sixth time," she said. "Caleb Rice."
Calbe grinned as L. weighed the gold dust, poured it into a bag, and gave it to him.
"That was your bet," L. said to Toby. "I told you not to take it."
"who woulda thought they was dumb enough to fall of the piana six times," he snapped at her.
"Caleb Rice did," L. answered calmly.
actually I forgot it because I only read maybe 50 pages of it. I just read Miners and Opera Singer and Deveraux (along with Coulter) were my favorite authors of the 80s. However, by the 90s, I stopped reading them.
this is a hard thread because what others find funny, I dont.
I'll post a passage tonite