Sentence The Onehundredandthirtythird
We both stood, paralysed by indecision and my Dear Reader Companion, in her personality, her essential quiddity – or as we would say, in Scotland, “in herself” - sensitive and emotional, began to laugh slightly hysterically, until I gave her a dig in the ribs with my elbow and urged her to accompany down the short flight to the walkway which runs overhead across the station concourse, with a lift and several more flights of stairs down to platform level – we pressed the button for the lift but did not waste time waiting for it, but ran along and checked the stairs, saw neither Bernie nor the Man, and then I rushed back to the lift and found that it was arriving at the upper level and the doors began to open almost immediately; my Companion was the first to see her, and so she gave the first
scream, followed in a heartbeat by me; for Bernie lay slumped against the side wall, a livid gash across her beautiful white neck that I had always envied, and blood drenching her blouse and coat: “call an Ambulance and the Police,” I ordered as I knelt beside Bernie and searched for a pulse – it was there, but very faint, and the blood was still oozing from her slashed neck; I rummaged in my bag for something to staunch it and could only find my scarf, so made do with that as an ad hoc bandage, but it was like trying to hold back the waves – I guessed that the blade hadn't severed an artery, because I had heard that the blood would spray out with the force of the heart's pumping, so if it was a vein or several, and if the Paramedics were quick, we should be able to save her; “oh, Bernie, Bernie,” I said, not knowing if she could hear me but knowing that if I were she I'd want to know that someone cared about me, “we've called for an Ambulance and it's nearly here – I can here the siren,” and at that I could hear feet rattling down the steps and then two Paramedics appeared at the lift door; one helped me up and the other knelt to examine Bernie, she eased away my scarf and then replaced it and applied pressure while her partner pulled out some dressing pads and tape from their bag – at that point I began to feel a little faint and I sat down on the steps where my Dear Reader sat, bent
forward with her head between her knees: “you didn't bargain for this when you tagged along,” I said, trying to sound cheerful (for her sake or mine, I really don't know) though I was desperately worried about Bernie and felt I should call her family and wondered if I had a number for either of her cousins – Dixie and Bunty O'Hooligan – and checking my phone, found that I still had one for Dixie and called it and it was answered on the third ring: “who's this,” she said and I would have known her anywhere, even though it had been years since we were in class together, and had spent a weekend camping on a field trip (well, yes, literally) in The Great Glen – two girls to a tent and I drew Dixie and, though we had been classmates forever, we had never been BFF and this was the closest we had
ever been, and over the course of the week we got closer – much closer; Dixie was my first lover and for me it was an experience of True Romance and Total Passion, against which all others in my life have been measured and few have surpassed; and it was the closeness Dixie and I came home from that Trip with that turned her cousin Bernie into my tormentress, for she had staked first claim on Dixie and, ever somewhat refractory in her relations with the world around her, unaccepting of what she did not like, was now my sworn enemy and I the recipient of many brickbats from her; luckily, Dixie and Bunty protected me, but it was not a pleasant experience, knowing that someone hated me and would have happily ground me into the dirt; when we left school at the end of that term, I still saw plenty of Dixie, but wasn't aware of Bernie being around, so the tension eased and we had a lovely summer – we didn't go far, and didn't need to, for Edinburgh has some fine parks and wildernesses within it's boundaries and just beyond; we rambled around the Pentland Hills and made love while gazing down at our city, spread below; we walked the Cramond Foreshore, and spent an
afternoon on the Island, reached by a causeway at low tide; we walked from there to Portobello another day and played on the sands with other kids – still young enough to toss and catch tennis balls and send frisbees slicing overhead: oh, when Dixie leapt high, her arm outstretched and fingers reaching to grasp the disc and pull it to her, I truly believed I would never see a more wonderful sight (but I was only 17 and we both still had something of the world to see – and not necessarily in other countries) and rarely have, for the eyes of youth have an intensity which can fade as our experiences increase, and the curve of a thigh or breast, which sets the girl's nerves tingling all over her body, will in time become so commonplace that the woman may often fail to notice them, or simply register their existence as a matter of fact; without wonder or enchantment – which is kinda sad really; and Dixie's voice took me back to that summer – our first and last, for I started at University and she went to be a Nurse, and between her shifts and my studies and the fact that we each had a lot of work and studying to do, and were meeting new people and encountering new experiences, and trite though it must sound, we genuinely did just drift apart – all this fluttered through my head as I listened to her voice, so I took a quick breath and told her who I was, where and why I was calling, and that Bernie would be going to A&E at the Royal; that I believed she would be okay and please let me know how she gets on, and Dixie promised she would call me back later once she had definite news; as I clicked my phone off I looked up the stairs and saw two Police Officers coming down, and I recognised them both, for the scintillating WPC Isa Urquhart is my cousin and the newly promoted Detective Inspector Gordon Brevity is married to another cousin of mine, so I helped my Dear Reader to her feet and, the lift being cordoned off with Crime Scene Tape and now being worked upon by their team of SOCOs, we went downstairs with the officers to find somewhere to sit and give them what information we could.
We both stood, paralysed by indecision and my Dear Reader Companion, in her personality, her essential quiddity – or as we would say, in Scotland, “in herself” - sensitive and emotional, began to laugh slightly hysterically, until I gave her a dig in the ribs with my elbow and urged her to accompany down the short flight to the walkway which runs overhead across the station concourse, with a lift and several more flights of stairs down to platform level – we pressed the button for the lift but did not waste time waiting for it, but ran along and checked the stairs, saw neither Bernie nor the Man, and then I rushed back to the lift and found that it was arriving at the upper level and the doors began to open almost immediately; my Companion was the first to see her, and so she gave the first
scream, followed in a heartbeat by me; for Bernie lay slumped against the side wall, a livid gash across her beautiful white neck that I had always envied, and blood drenching her blouse and coat: “call an Ambulance and the Police,” I ordered as I knelt beside Bernie and searched for a pulse – it was there, but very faint, and the blood was still oozing from her slashed neck; I rummaged in my bag for something to staunch it and could only find my scarf, so made do with that as an ad hoc bandage, but it was like trying to hold back the waves – I guessed that the blade hadn't severed an artery, because I had heard that the blood would spray out with the force of the heart's pumping, so if it was a vein or several, and if the Paramedics were quick, we should be able to save her; “oh, Bernie, Bernie,” I said, not knowing if she could hear me but knowing that if I were she I'd want to know that someone cared about me, “we've called for an Ambulance and it's nearly here – I can here the siren,” and at that I could hear feet rattling down the steps and then two Paramedics appeared at the lift door; one helped me up and the other knelt to examine Bernie, she eased away my scarf and then replaced it and applied pressure while her partner pulled out some dressing pads and tape from their bag – at that point I began to feel a little faint and I sat down on the steps where my Dear Reader sat, bent
forward with her head between her knees: “you didn't bargain for this when you tagged along,” I said, trying to sound cheerful (for her sake or mine, I really don't know) though I was desperately worried about Bernie and felt I should call her family and wondered if I had a number for either of her cousins – Dixie and Bunty O'Hooligan – and checking my phone, found that I still had one for Dixie and called it and it was answered on the third ring: “who's this,” she said and I would have known her anywhere, even though it had been years since we were in class together, and had spent a weekend camping on a field trip (well, yes, literally) in The Great Glen – two girls to a tent and I drew Dixie and, though we had been classmates forever, we had never been BFF and this was the closest we had
ever been, and over the course of the week we got closer – much closer; Dixie was my first lover and for me it was an experience of True Romance and Total Passion, against which all others in my life have been measured and few have surpassed; and it was the closeness Dixie and I came home from that Trip with that turned her cousin Bernie into my tormentress, for she had staked first claim on Dixie and, ever somewhat refractory in her relations with the world around her, unaccepting of what she did not like, was now my sworn enemy and I the recipient of many brickbats from her; luckily, Dixie and Bunty protected me, but it was not a pleasant experience, knowing that someone hated me and would have happily ground me into the dirt; when we left school at the end of that term, I still saw plenty of Dixie, but wasn't aware of Bernie being around, so the tension eased and we had a lovely summer – we didn't go far, and didn't need to, for Edinburgh has some fine parks and wildernesses within it's boundaries and just beyond; we rambled around the Pentland Hills and made love while gazing down at our city, spread below; we walked the Cramond Foreshore, and spent an
afternoon on the Island, reached by a causeway at low tide; we walked from there to Portobello another day and played on the sands with other kids – still young enough to toss and catch tennis balls and send frisbees slicing overhead: oh, when Dixie leapt high, her arm outstretched and fingers reaching to grasp the disc and pull it to her, I truly believed I would never see a more wonderful sight (but I was only 17 and we both still had something of the world to see – and not necessarily in other countries) and rarely have, for the eyes of youth have an intensity which can fade as our experiences increase, and the curve of a thigh or breast, which sets the girl's nerves tingling all over her body, will in time become so commonplace that the woman may often fail to notice them, or simply register their existence as a matter of fact; without wonder or enchantment – which is kinda sad really; and Dixie's voice took me back to that summer – our first and last, for I started at University and she went to be a Nurse, and between her shifts and my studies and the fact that we each had a lot of work and studying to do, and were meeting new people and encountering new experiences, and trite though it must sound, we genuinely did just drift apart – all this fluttered through my head as I listened to her voice, so I took a quick breath and told her who I was, where and why I was calling, and that Bernie would be going to A&E at the Royal; that I believed she would be okay and please let me know how she gets on, and Dixie promised she would call me back later once she had definite news; as I clicked my phone off I looked up the stairs and saw two Police Officers coming down, and I recognised them both, for the scintillating WPC Isa Urquhart is my cousin and the newly promoted Detective Inspector Gordon Brevity is married to another cousin of mine, so I helped my Dear Reader to her feet and, the lift being cordoned off with Crime Scene Tape and now being worked upon by their team of SOCOs, we went downstairs with the officers to find somewhere to sit and give them what information we could.
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