Paul Gallier: Did they ever tell you how our parents died?
Irena Gallier: Yes.
Paul Gallier: What did they tell you about me?
Irena Gallier: Well, not much. I knew I had a brother but I was only four. I used to fantasize about you when I was in the orphanage.
Paul Gallier: Fantasize?
Irena Gallier: Well, you know, about you coming to rescue me and things. Daydreams.
Paul Gallier: Yes, I had the same dreams.
Paul Gallier: Long ago, our ancestors sacrificed their children to the leopards. The souls of the children grew inside the leopards, until the leopards became human. We were gods then.
Paul Gallier: We are a incestuous race. We can only make love with our own, otherwise we transform. And before we can become human again, we must kill.
Paul Gallier: Welcome home.
Alex: As we walked along the flatblock marina, I was calm on the outside, but thinking all the time. So now it was to be Georgie the general, saying what we should do and what not to do, and Dim as his mindless greeding bulldog. But suddenly I viddied that thinking was for the gloopy ones and that the oomny ones use, like, inspiration and what Bog sends. For now it was lovely music that came to my aid. There was a window open with the stereo on and I viddied right at once what to do.
Alex: Hi, hi, hi there! At last we meet. Our brief govoreet through the letter-hole was not, shall we say, satisfactory, yes?
Alex: The Durango '95 purred away a real horrowshow - a nice, warm vibraty feeling all through your guttiwuts. And soon it was trees and dark, my brothers, with real country dark.
Alex: One thing I could never stand was to see a filthy, dirty old drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blurp blurp in between as it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking, rotten guts. I could never stand to see anyone like that, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real old like this one was.
Alex: What you got back home, little sister, to play your fuzzy warbles on? I bet you got little save pitiful, portable picnic players. Come with uncle and hear all proper! Hear angel trumpets and devil trombones. You are invited.
Alex: What we were after now was the old surprise visit. That was a real kick and good for laughs and lashings of the old ultraviolent.
Minister: Oh, yes. I understand you're fond of music. I have arranged a little surprise for you.
Minister: One that I hope that you will like. As a um... how shall we put it? As a symbol of our new understanding. An understanding between two friends.
Minister: Punishment means nothing to them, . They enjoy their so-called punishment.
Alex: You're absolutely right, sir.
Chief Guard Barnes: Shut your bleeding hole.
Minister: You seem to have a whole ward to yourself, my boy.
Alex: Yes, sir, and a very lonely place it is too, sir, when I wake up in the middle of the night with my pain.
Minister: Yes... well, good to see you on the mend.
Alex: We were all feeling a bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it being a night of no small expenditure.
Alex: Welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, well. To what do I owe the extreme pleasure of this surprising visit?
Alex: And the first thing that flashed into my gulliver was that I'd like to have her right down there on the floor with the old in-out, real savage.
Alex: Hey dad, there's a strange fella sittin' on the sofa munchy-wunching lomticks of toast.
Dad: That's Joe. He lives here now. The lodger, that's what he is. He rents your room.
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