The girl who lives above Udolpho’s pâtisserie has earned her name many times over. For one thing, she lives entirely on cream cakes provided from below—devouring them solely by the light of a gibbous moon. For another, she keeps a piano in the corner of her dusty room on which she is forever composing melancholy nocturnes, sometimes with quite eldritch harmonies. Thirdly, she is quite mad.
— Rhys Hughes, Éclair de Lune // Worming the Harpy and Other Bitter Pills ‎· студент вчерашней ночи
The Rue Discord—so named because the wind whips down it at absurd speed and plays astonishingly creepy, atonal music on the cast-iron awnings of the shops (I know a composer called Karlheinz who bases all his work on this frightful phenomenon)—has been a thoroughfare I have scrupulously avoided since my accident. ‎· студент вчерашней ночи
This was a depressing idea—it was equally possible, however, she required the cable for some mysterious purpose of her own. Knowing what I did of her tastes and habits, this would almost certainly involve either cakes or music, though I could not see in what capacity a simple India-rubber tube might serve such pursuits. The mind boggled with the ensuing speculations. An apparatus for inserting clotted cream at high pressure into the heart of an hermetically sealed profiterole? A method of relaying tone-colours into the pâtisserie below? ‎· студент вчерашней ночи
‘But Soames volunteered himself as your executor,’ she replied. ‘He made sure your body was left to science as instructed. Unfortunately, you did not state which science. He arranged it to be delivered to the Social Sciences Department. At first the economists there did not know what to do with you. They hid you in a cupboard and hoped you would go away on your own. Later, when they thought about it more carefully, they hoped you would not. In any event, you soon went off in a different way and your limbs were boiled to make glue for the teeth of debtors. A curious irony, to be sure—but Soames is a sly one!’ ‎· студент вчерашней ночи