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Audiobooks
243
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Description

Examples of mystery fiction, thriller with dialog between two characters, lighthearted non-fiction.

Vocal Characteristics

Language

English

Accents

North American (General)

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I was changing Tracy's diapers at four o'clock in the morning when Thor Gibbs showed up, not the height of glamorous living. I'll give you that one, and definitely not something I thought I'd ever be caught doing for any midget human life form, particularly my own. But, hey, you want the whole story, you're going to get the whole story poopy and all. It was his big black 68 Norton commando I heard. First I heard it's roar from miles away in the still of the country. Night heard it grow closer and closer than pause. Then came the crunching of gravel as it eased up the long private drive that led from Joshua Town Road to the farmhouse. Silence followed. This didn't last long. Silence was always brief. When Thor Gibbs was around, she thought she had prepared for this moment because she had rehearsed it so many times in daydreams and nightmares. A time would come when he would go away saying nothing to her, leaving in the silence of a midnight and days later. Or weeks later, there would be a stranger at the door of the apartment, and he would tell her so little about what had happened, except that something had happened. She had rehearsed the moment until she knew how she would react. Now the moment had come. Rita pulled the rope tied around her and went to the door and opened it on a thin chain. She saw the tall man in the unlit hall. Rita Macklin, he said, not asking a question. She felt a moment of dizziness. She closed the door, dropped the chain, opened it again. Yes, she definitely felt as if she might be falling. He must have caught her beneath the arms and dragged her across the room to the couch. When her green eyes opened, he was sitting on the coffee table in front of her, holding a glass of water in his hand. Is he dead? She said. I don't know. No one knows. Her sub surprised her. She sobbed again deep in her chest and groaned. She went past him into the kitchen and opened the small refrigerator. He kept a bottle of Finlandia in the freezer. He did this. He did that. He had his secret ways, and in their lives together, she had gradually discovered each way and treasured it as a souvenir of the times when he was not there. If he's not dead, he's alive someplace. Is he hurt? No one knows anything. It happened less than 48 hours ago. She poured the thickened, chilled vodka into a glass and took the draft like medicine. And then she began to cry, holding the glass in her hand. Think of romantic man alone and heroic bending a universe to his will. What better analog than the concerto? The soloist faces three orchestra and battles it with his virtuosity until finally they join in triumphant partnership. From Mozart's time, the concerto had been a star vehicle, but the classical era composers at least remembered that the orchestra existed. By the time Tchaikovsky wrote his Violin Concerto in 18 78 the orchestra's lucky to get a few rumbles and four votings in edgewise before the soloist enters with Hiss First sweet, soulful melody. That tune comes back as a rebel rousing march, complete with trumpets, but not before a tear jerking second theme and considerable violinist stick Showing off the showing off is the point, of course, after a short, tearful Andante, the concerto's finale is a violin decathlon upon hearing the premier, Vienna's top critic wrote. The violin is no longer plate but rent asunder. Beaten black and blue What fun?