Jeffery Deaver The Bone Collector Page16 to19
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) French (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
with a tense flutter of wings, the para green dropped onto the window ledge. The lights outside mid morning was brilliant in the air. Looked fiercely hot. Hey, you are, the man whispered and cocked his head at the sound of the buzzer of the door downstairs. Is that him? He shouted toward stays. Is it Lincoln rhyme? Heard nothing in response and turned back to the window. The birds hate swivelled, fast jerky movement that the falcon nevertheless made elegant rhyme, observed that its talons were bloody. A piece of yellow flesh dangled from the black natural beak. It extended a short neck and ease to the nest in movements reminiscent not of birds but of snakes. The falcon drop the meat into the upturned mouth of the fuzzy blue hatching. I'm looking right. Thought at the only living creature in New York City with no predator except maybe God himself. Hear the footsteps come up the stairs slowly. Was that him? He lost Some young men answered. No. Who was it? The doorbell rang, didn't it? Thumbs. Eyes went to the window. Ah, the birds back. Look! Bloodstains on your window sill. Can you see them? The female Falcon inched. Interview Blue Grey like a fish iridescent your head. Scan the sky. They're always together. Do they mate for life? Some wondered aloud like east rhymes. Eyes return to thumb, who was bent forward at his trim, youthful waste, gazing at the nature of the spattered window. Who was it? Ron repeated. The young man was stalling. Now on an irritated rhyme. A visitor. A visitor, huh? Rob snorted. He tried to recall when his last visitor had been here. Must've been three months ago. Who had been that reporter, maybe, or some distant cousin, while Peter Taylor, one of rhyme spinal cord specialists and Blaine, had been there several times. But she, of course, was not a visitor. It's freezing, Thumb complained. His reaction was to open the window. Immediate gratification. Youth, Don't open the window, a rhyme ordered and tell me who the ****'s year It's freezing. You'll disturb the bird. You can turn the air conditioner down. I'll turn it down. We were here first, Thumb said, further lifting the huge pain of the window. The birds moved in with full knowledge of you. The FARC ins glance towards the noise blaring, but then they always glad they remained on the ledge, lording over their domain off anaemic gingko trees on the alternate side of the street. Parkers, Rahm repeated, Who is it's Alonso? Later lawn. What is he doing here? Some examined The room. Place is a mace, primed and like the festive cleaning. You didn't like the bustle, the noise of the vacuum, which he found particularly irritating. He was content yah as it wass this room, which he called his office, was on the second floor of his graphic townhouse on the upper west side of the city overlooking Central Park. The room was large, 20 by 20 and virtually every one of those feet was occupied. Sometimes he closed his eyes playing a game and try to detect the smell of the different objects in the room. Here, the thousands of books and magazines. The Tower of Pisa, stacks of vertical peas, the heart transistors of the TV, the dust frosted light bulbs, the cork bulletin boards, vinyl peroxide, latex upholstery, three different kinds of single malt Scotch falcon shits. I don't want to see him. Tell him I'm busy. Andi Young Cup. Any banks? No, He was a baseball player right. You really should let me clean. You'll never notice are filthy someplace is until people come to call. Come to call my That sounds quaint Victorian. How does the son tell him to get the **** out? How's that for funder? Sick indicates for Miss Farmers speaking of the room but rhymes suppose he meant his boss, too, rhymes. Hair was black and thick as a 20 year olds. Their he was twice that age, but the strands were wild and bushy, desperately in need of a washing cut he's faced sprouted a dirty looking three days growth ofthe black beard. And he'd wakened with an insistent tickling his ear, which meant that Thursday is needed trimming as well drives. Nails were long finger and toe, and he'd been wearing the same clothes for a week. Polka dotted pyjamas. God awful ugly. His eyes were nearer deep brown and sits in a face that Blaine had told him on a number of occasions, passionate and otherwise was handsome