The clocks lining the dream hallway in her mind taunted her with their twisting hands, their broken faces, and some of them, with a cringe-worthy coo-coo, coo-coo squall.
The critics also would discover an individual structure in the score: a singular, artful alternation of the savage in mood and movement and the dreamy and exalted; a juxtaposition of heavy march-rhythms and dragging or ecstatic rhythms; and abrupt juxtapositions of inexpressivity and extreme expressivity.
This bigfoot talk is just him screwing with us again.
The book that remained at my side while I wrote this novel was Juliet Gardiner's brilliant and enthralling tour d'horizon The Thirties (2010).
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