The Medical Faculty had been the last to fall. The Faculty Members had fought down to the last man. The last few survivors had barricaded themselves into the Hospital and then dynamited the building around themselves. The ruins had burned for days. When MG42 was found, I had thought it might contain the bodies of prisoners tortured at the Hospital. That would have been bad enough. But I was wrong. It was worse.
— Dave Hutchinson, Europe at Midnight ‎· плот страстей человеческих
‘One under’ was slang for a jumper, a suicide under the wheels of a train. “Do we know for certain that it was an _authentic_ suicide?” Jim asked. Spicer looked at him as if he had just quoted a line from _Gravity’s Rainbow_. “Bloke’s dead,” he allowed after a few moments. “That was authentic enough. Any more details, you’ll need to talk to British Transport Police.” ‎· плот страстей человеческих
“This is my station, sir. Anyone who thinks they can make a phone call here and not be eavesdropped on is deluding themselves.” “I see. Have you ever had the opportunity to argue this point in court, Superintendent?” Spicer beamed. “On numerous occasions.” ‎· плот страстей человеческих
I lifted the receiver and held it to my ear and I heard her voice in the earpiece saying, “This is a _mobile phone_, Rupe, and that’s impossible for two reasons. The first is that you don’t have mobile phones, and the second is that you don’t have a mobile phone network. Except you do.” ‎· плот страстей человеческих
Among Eleanor’s luggage was a beige ovoid about the size of a hiking boot. I had seen her open it once to check its contents, and asked what it was. “Cronenberg pistol,” she said after pondering whether to answer. She put her hand into the ovoid. “The French call them ‘pork guns.’” And she brought her hand out holding something wet and shiny and pink and roughly pistol-shaped. “It’s a terrorist weapon,” she said. “Undetectable on scanners. Fires a single bullet made of bone. They grow them in vats.” ‎· плот страстей человеческих
The engineers had been primed to look out for what seemed to be minor optical illusions, paths which seemed to lead or arrive from nowhere, anything at all which did not belong. All they’d managed to turn up so far was assorted detritus and a cache of pornography on old-fashioned CD-ROMS, sealed in a dozen old plastic sandwich boxes and buried in the woods. Bevan had chuckled and shaken her head over the treasure trove, but had insisted on it being minutely checked by everything from cryptographers to a puzzled-looking semiotician hurriedly drafted in for the purpose. ‎· плот страстей человеческих
There were five hundred and thirty-two entries in this Eurovision – up from last year’s five hundred and twenty, but still a long way from the so-far-record of six hundred and eight. In its own way, Eurovision was as good a reflector of the current state of the Continent as many Foreign Office briefings Jim had read during his career. Countries, polities, nations, sovereign states, principalities, all wanted to take part – the sundered wreckage of Ukraine and Moldova alone accounted for seventeen national entries – and one could analyse the voting patterns of the various national juries and sometimes see geopolitical trends developing. It was now almost fifty years since England – the United Kingdom, as then was – had won. Indeed, it was some decades since any part of Britain had managed better than thirtieth place. ‎· плот страстей человеческих
There was a sign right outside the window. On it was the word WŁADYSŁAW. I stared at it and felt a strange sensation in my throat, as if I was about to cry, or about to burst out laughing. I had finally reached Lady’s Law. ‎· плот страстей человеческих