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The Spaniard. I recognized him immediately. And yet I'd seen him only once
before: a memorable occasion. I was very young at the time. Zohra was
supposed to put me to bed, but I managed to elude her and burst into the drawing
I can see the Spaniard full-face. I'm not afraid of him at all this time, because
there's something sad about him, something pathetic and reassuring. He's
imploring my mother. They raise their voices. He wants to see the little girl. He
wants to see ...
neath the lampshade; the crazed obstinacy of insects colliding with the mosquito
net (“Why," my mother would ask, “must we always live in countries infested with
mosquitoes?"). The book fell from my hands when the Spaniard tiptoed into my ...
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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - kaxxie - LibraryThing
Jacket description: "An international sensation from the moment of its first publication in France, Sweet Death is a novel of heartstopping intensity, black humor, and passion not easily forgotten. A ... Read full review