Cleopatra and Frankenstein [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE December She was already inside the elevator when he entered. He nodded at her and turned to puU the iron gate shut with a clang. They were in a converted factory building in Tribeca, the kind stiU serviced, unusually, by freight elevators. It was just the two of them, side by side, facing forward as the mechanism groaned into motion. Beyond the metal crisscross of the gate, they watched the cement walls of the building slide by. "What are you getting?" He addressed this to the air in front of him, without turning toward her. "I'm sorry?" "I've been sent for ice," he said. "What do you need?" "Oh, nothing. I'm off home." "At ten thirty on New Year's Eve? That is either the saddest or the wisest thing I've ever heard." "Let's indulge me and say wisest," she said. He laughed generously, though she didn't feel she'd been particularly witty. "British?" he asked. "London." "Your voice sounds like how biting into a Granny Smith apple feels." Now she laughed, with less abandon. "How does that feel?" "In a word? Crisp."