|E X T R A C T|
|V.Theodoropoulou, GAME WORTH THE CANDLE, novel|
On the evening of Maundy Thursday, when I went out to get a couple of pizzas from the Italian restaurant on the corner, I felt as though Emily and I were the sole survivors in this deserted city. How many others, I wondered, had lost track of time in love that week?
regularsí faces and restaurateurís insistence on the receipt that
simply had to go into the bag with my pizzas was all the answer I
needed: no one! And it had been so long since Iíd drawn my lips
across the marvels of a womanís body with the yearning of the sole
survivor, that come dawn the bag with the pizzas on the trunk at the
foot of my bed was like the depressing remains of a wrecked shipís
cargo, and Emilyís tranquil breathing lying at my side spoke in the
most beautiful way of the relief survivors feel.