It’s like a scene from a nightmare, one of those silent terrors that leave you swallowed up by some unreal entity, clingy and elastic. Just as well there’s not another living soul around to witness this. In the dead of night, I begin to pound away, slamming my fists into the pale, pliant lump in front of me. I plant my feet wider apart and take a deep breath. It’s true what they say, the coolness held in a slab of nature never disappears entirely. Summary: Sleepless Night tells the story of Vincent, a respected and dedicated police officer, or so it seems.
#Sleepless night free
The stone was still free of cracks, and Ton and I saw no need to replace it with stainless steel. I turn on the faucet and rinse my hands with cold water. By that time my lips were chewed raw I tasted blood for hours. Oh, when I think of the ease with which he turned the boat into the howling wind and brought us to a clean halt six inches from the pier. It matched the way he walked and talked, the blue sweater he draped around my shoulders that day we went sailing. Not a name that struck a chord with me, it was just a good fit. From Longman Dictionary of Contemporary Englisha sleepless nighta sleepless nighta night when you are unable to sleep Adrian spent a sleepless night. It’s simply a matter of making sure your hands don’t get too warm and turn the mixture gummy. My fingers do the job as well as any pulsating dough hook, if not better. Its nerve-jangling din is superfluous in any case. I might as well toss it out altogether, for even during the day, when there could be no objection to using it, the notion never enters my head. The machine stands next to the stove, gathering grease and dust. It’s unthinkable that the mixer might shred the intense stillness of the night. With slow, steady movements, I squeeze the mass together. I press the base of my thumb into the dough. Why? Out of love? Some sentimental notion? Because that morning my hair had fallen into a fetching wave? How often would it have been? A summer long, a handful of times? I laid a garland of nasturtium around his plate, trickled honey into the calyxes of the edible flowers. Ton boiled the eggs and served them up in an oven glove to keep them warm. On Sundays, we were in the habit of having breakfast under the pear trees. Pleasant things, most likely, natural, too-so natural they seemed to happen of their own accord and left no impression. It’s nonsense, of course, to suppose that I do not remember Ton. I start by raking my fingers firmly through the ingredients. And, a process which never fails to astound me, they double the original volume. Yeast and eggs are extremely volatile ingredients. From that moment on, you have to be careful. You knead the mixture for five minutes first, and only then do you add the eggs. I take the big bowl, dissolve the yeast in milk. It’s wise to have everything on hand before you start. A special calm is needed to make this dough.
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