She loved lightning. It wasn’t her favorite weapon—fire was, or knives.
But lightning has a brutal, beautiful efficiency, and she used it to
good effect, once frying alive a pair of lovers. Lightning seemed to
seek her out, too. It struck her houses repeatedly, and on one occasion
caused a nearby bell tower to come crashing down into her bathroom. The
lightning entered her bedroom, she said, and danced across her upper
lip.
Si tratta di Muriel Spark, nel bel ritratto che ne fa Parul Seghal sul newyorker.
Si tratta di Muriel Spark, nel bel ritratto che ne fa Parul Seghal sul newyorker.
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