The Parsifal Mosaic [antikvár]

The cold rays of the moon streaked down from the night sky, bouncing off the rolling suif, which burst into suspended sprays of white where isolated waves crashed into the rocks of the shore-line. This stretch of beach between the toweríng boulders of the Costa Brava was the execution ground. It had to be.He could see her now. And hear her through the sounds of the sea and the breaking surf. She was running wildly, screaming hysterically: 'Pro Boha Éivetío! Proct Co to Délősi Prestan! Proc! Proc!'Her blonde hair was caught in the moonlight, her racing sil-houette given substance by the beam of a powerful light fifty yards behind her. She feli; the gap closed and a staccato burst of guníire abruptly, insolently, split the night air, bullets exploding the sand and the wild grass all around her. She would be dead in a matter of seconds.His love would be gone.They were high on the hill overlooking the Moldau, the boats on the river ploughing the waters north and south, their wakes creating furrows. The curling smoke from the factories below diffused in the bright afternoon sky, obscuring the mountains in the distance; and Michael watched, wondering whether the winds above Prague would blow the smoke away so that he could see the mountains again: His head was on Jenna's lap, his long legs stretched out, touching the wicker basket she had packed with sandwiches and chilled wine. She sat on the grass, her back against the smooth bark of a birch