For more serious and potentially fatal falls — those categorized as above «factor two» — the brake -
like properties of the ideal
rope «would better protect you
against hurting yourself or dying.»
I could hear them
like voices in my own head — why has this boy stopped talking, queer as a winged snake is he, leant
against the wall with such a look on his face, would be handsome if he weren't so sullen, what a chest he has, deep as a wrestler's, how does it spring from those twisted haunches to which are pawled legs
like hanks of
rope, oh god, his ribcage is heaving as if at any moment he may vomit, maybe he is ill, boy what is your problem, alas, my wordless enquiries cause his convulsions to grow worse, I think he may be going to have a fit, what will I do if he dies, oh dear, my further anxious attempts to communicate, with twisting «wherefore» hand motions and raising of eyebrows, seem to cause violent shudders, bugger's lips are writhing in some kind of agony, should a doctor be called, where can one find a doctor in this place, where the hell am I anyway, what the fuck am I doing here?
It was
like the Day of the Locusts, with people pushing up
against this velvet
rope that separated Jean - Michel from the thronging mass, and Jean - Michel was letting in whoever he thought was appropriate.