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Название книги: The Fourth Deadly Sin
Автор(ы): Lawrence Sanders
Жанр: Криминальный детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Fourth-Deadly-Sin-153771.html
The November sky over Manhattan was chain mail, raveling into steely rain. A black night with coughs of thunder, lightning stabs that made abrupt days. Dr. Simon Ellerbee, standing at his office window, peered out to look at life on the street below. He saw only the reflection of his own haunted face.He could not have said how it started, or why. He, who had always been so certain, now buffeted and trembling… All hearts have dark corners, where the death of a loved one is occasionally wished, laughter offends, and even beauty becomes a rebuke.He turned back to his desk. It was strewn with files and tape cassettes: records of his analyses. He stared at that litter of fears, angers, passions, dreads. Now his own life belonged there, part of the untidiness, where once it had been ordered and serene.He stalked about, hands thrust deep into pockets, head bowed. He pondered his predicament and dwindling choices.Mordant thought: How does one seek "professional help" when one is a professional?The soul longs for purity, but we are all hungry for the spiced and exotic. Evil is just a word, and what no one sees, no one knows. Unless God truly is a busybody.He lay full-length on the couch some of his patients insisted on using, though he thought this classic prop of psychiatry was flimflam and often counterproductive. But there he was, stretched out tautly, trying to still his churning thoughts and succeeding no better than all the agitated who had occupied that same procrustean bed.Groaning, he rose from the couch to resume his pac
Название книги: The Fourth Deadly Sin
Автор(ы): Lawrence Sanders
Жанр: Криминальный детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Fourth-Deadly-Sin-153771.html
The November sky over Manhattan was chain mail, raveling into steely rain. A black night with coughs of thunder, lightning stabs that made abrupt days. Dr. Simon Ellerbee, standing at his office window, peered out to look at life on the street below. He saw only the reflection of his own haunted face.He could not have said how it started, or why. He, who had always been so certain, now buffeted and trembling… All hearts have dark corners, where the death of a loved one is occasionally wished, laughter offends, and even beauty becomes a rebuke.He turned back to his desk. It was strewn with files and tape cassettes: records of his analyses. He stared at that litter of fears, angers, passions, dreads. Now his own life belonged there, part of the untidiness, where once it had been ordered and serene.He stalked about, hands thrust deep into pockets, head bowed. He pondered his predicament and dwindling choices.Mordant thought: How does one seek "professional help" when one is a professional?The soul longs for purity, but we are all hungry for the spiced and exotic. Evil is just a word, and what no one sees, no one knows. Unless God truly is a busybody.He lay full-length on the couch some of his patients insisted on using, though he thought this classic prop of psychiatry was flimflam and often counterproductive. But there he was, stretched out tautly, trying to still his churning thoughts and succeeding no better than all the agitated who had occupied that same procrustean bed.Groaning, he rose from the couch to resume his pac
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