oldpinksatin (oldpinksatin) wrote,

... She brought her knees together very firmly, as if to make herself a smaller, more compact unit. Then she placed her hands, vertically, over her eyes and pressed the heels hard, as though to paralyze the optic nerve and down all images inot a voidlike black. Her extended fingers, though trembling, or beacuse they were trembling, looked oddly graceful and pretty. She held that tense, almost fetal poisiton for a suspensory moment-- then broke down. She cried for fully five minutes. She cried without trying to suppress any of the noisier manifestations of grief and confusion, with all the convulsive throat sounds that a hysterical child makes when the breath is trying to get up through a partly closed epiglottis. And yet, when finally she stopped, she merely stopped, without the painful, knifelike intakes of breath that usually follow a violent outburst-inburst. when she stopped, it was as though some momentous change of polarity had taken place inside her mind, on that had an immediate, pacifying effect on her body. Her face tear-streaked but quite expressionless, almost vacuous, she picked up her handbag from the floor, opened it, and took out the small pea-green clothbound book. She put it on her lap- on her knees, rather- and looked down at it, gazed down at it, as if that were the best of all places for a small pea-green clothbound book to be. Agter a moment, she picked up the book, raised it chest high, and pressed it to her- firmly, and quite briefly. Then she put it back into the handbag, stood up, and came out of the enclosure. She washed her face with cold water, dried it with a towel from an overheard rack, applied fresh lipstick, combed her hair, and left the room.
-JD. Salinger
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