Dreamer (Author Peter James)
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (England - Liverpool, Manchester, Lancashire, Cheshire) British (England - Yorkshire & Humber) British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
It was strange sitting so high up in the deep, wide seats like an armchair. Her feet were buried in the soft lamb walls carpet, and she smelled the rich smell of the re help bolster the leather. My uncle had a cow that was high of the ground and smelled of leather, a rover. She always sat in the back. My other uncle and aunt sat without talking in the front Sunday afternoons, the ritual drive in the country from their dull house in Croydon, staring at fields like those in which one she had run free and played where once. But there had been a long time ago, and the memory was forgotten. Mother, the smell of the leather glove in the dream. So clear the black hood with the slits, a shiver rippled through her. The nerve was still there, roll exposed. You can never really forget only paper over the cracks. When her parents had died, her aunt and uncle had inherited her without much grace. Without much enthusiasm. They hadn't wanted it. She was an intrusion into their lives into their flat, childless tranquillity. Her uncle was Amaral's man with a droopy moustache, irritated by everything and noise by lights left on by the morning news. He shuffled in determinedly around the gloomy house, tapping the barometer, muttering something about the weather, although he never did anything that would have been affected by it. Sat in his armchair, picking his stamp collection with his tweezers, occasionally looking up. Oh, I say, a Vancouver Vancouver island. 10 cents blue. Interesting. Then he'd return to his silence. Durant was a cold, humourless woman, forever blamed God for a lot in life and went to church every Sunday to thank you for it. She was going through life amassing credits for the next life. She had one for marrying her husband, one for taking on some one for having the vicar and his wife of amputee and one for joining the Samaritans. God knows what advice she dispensed one for taking the purse she found in the street to the police. She had over 300 credits, written a notebook some had once discovered that had been 20 years ago. Sam wondered how many more she had added since past. It was a strange place