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Voice Over • Audiobooks
37

Description

Sample of Fiction from 'Olive Kitteridge' by Elizabeth Strout

Vocal Characteristics

Language

English (North American)

Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
she stepped into the room, put her hand bag on the floor. His blue eyes watched her as she walked to him, and the room was filled with the quietness of afternoon sunlight. It fell through the window across the rocking chair hit broadside, the wallpaper with its brightness. The mahogany bed knobs Sean through the curved out window was the blue of the sky, the bayberry bush, the stonewall. The silence of this sunshine of the world seemed to fold over all of with a shiver of ghastly nous as she stood feeling the sun on her bare wrist, she watched him, looked away, looked at him again. To sit down beside him would be to close her eyes to the gaping loneliness of this sunlit world. God, I'm scared, he said quietly. She almost said, Oh, stop. I hate scared people. She would have said that to Henry, to just about anyone. Maybe because she hated the scared part of herself. This was just a fleeting thought. There was a contest within her revulsion, intended of desire. It was the sudden memory of Jane Holten in the waiting room that caused all of to walk to the bed the freedom of that ordinary banter because Jack in the doctor's office had needed her, had given her a place in the world. His blue eyes were watching her. Now she saw in them the vulnerability, the invitation, the fear as she sat down quietly, placed her open hand on his chest, fell the thump thump of his heart, which would someday stop, as all hearts do. But there was no someday. Now there was only the silence of this sunny room. What young people didn't know, she thought, lying down beside this man, his hand on her shoulder, her arm. Oh, what young people did not know. They did not know that lumpy, aged and wrinkled bodies, whereas needy, is their own young firm ones that love was not to be tossed away carelessly, as if it were a tart on a platter with others that got passed around again. Know if love was available, one chose it or didn't choose it. And if her platter had been full with the goodness of Henry and she had found it, burdensome had flicked off crumbs at a time, it was because she had not known what she should know. That day after day was unconsciously squandered. And so if this man next to her now was not a man, she would have chosen before this time, what did it matter? He most likely wouldn't have chosen her either. But here they were, and all of pictured two slices of Swiss cheese pressed together such holes they brought to this union. What pieces Life took out of you. Her eyes were closed and throughout her tired, self swept waves of gratitude and regret, she pictured the sunny room. The sun washed wall, the bayberry outside. It baffled her. The world. She did not want to leave it yet.