A Saucer of Loneliness: Volume VII: The Complete Stories of Theodore Sturgeon
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Kurt Vonnegut cites Theodore Sturgeon as the inspiration for his character Kilgore Trout. This volume includes 12 stories from 1953, considered Sturgeon's golden era. Among them are such favorites as the title story, "The Silken-Swift," "A Way of Thinking," "The Dark Room," "The Clinic," and "The World Well Lost," a story very ahead of its time in advocating gay rights.
was only four.” I pointed. “Al and Fritz and Bruno and Hal. Which one’s Hal?” “That’s Freddie. He give me twenny bucks and took twenny-three out of my purse, the dirty—. But Hal’s gone. He was the best one of all. You sure you didn’t hide him?” Then she thumped her forehead. “The window!” she said, and ran into the other room. I was on my four bones peering under the tub when I understood what she meant. I took a last good look around and then followed her. She was standing by the window,
Without another word, she turned and walked away down the road, behind the car. “Hey!” Drusilla did not look back. He started the car and drove off slowly. In a moment, the woman leaned forward and tugged hard on the wheel. The car heeled back on the road, and at last he took his eyes from the rear view mirror. “Now what’s with her?” he demanded of the windshield wiper. Lu blew another bubble. When the car was gone, Drusilla went slowly back and past the place she had met it, and on toward
of the understanding she had been groping for left her completely. She said dully, “Your tower … you’d better get back there.” “Work goes on,” he said, smiling tightly, “whether I’m there or not, as long as they don’t know my plans. They are afraid. But—yes, we can go now.” Rising, he flicked the stud of his torch. It flared blue-white, faded to the weak orange of Jubilith’s, then died. “The light …” “It’s all right,” said Jubilith. “I have mine.” “When they get like that, so dim, you can’t
mountain or a light on a weather balloon it had to be a flying saucer, and there had to be some tired quip about the saucer wanting to tell secrets. Then for two or three weeks she’d stay off the streets in the daytime. Once she thought she had it whipped. People didn’t want her, so she began reading. The novels were all right for a while until she found out that most of them were like the movies—all about the pretty ones who really own the world. So she learned things—animals, trees. A lousy
to … I think it was my fault.” He showed his right hand, on the middle finger of which was a huge, gaudily designed ring with the gold plate wearing off the corners of the mounting. The stone was gone, and one of the mounting claws pointed up, sharp and gleaming. “I lost the stone yesterday,” said Hartog. “I shouldn’t have worn it. Turned it around inside my hand like always when I come to a place like this. But what can I do?” He looked as if he were about to cry. He worried at the ring until he