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| Detail from the Penguin edition. Please buy if you enjoyed this blog. |
As they got into their pickup truck with their wicker hamper, Frank thought, God knows how good a salesman Ed is, or I am. Childan can be sold, but it's going to take a presentation, like they say.
If Juliana were here, he thought, she could stroll in there and do it without batting an eye; she's pretty, she can talk to anybody on earth, and she's a woman. After all, this is woman's jewellery. She could wear it into the store. Shutting his eyes, he tried to imagine how she would look with one of their bracelets on. Or one of their large silver necklaces. With her black hair and her pale skin, her doleful, probing eyes... wearing a grey jersey sweater, a little bit too tight, the silver resting against her bare flesh, metal rising and falling as she breathed...
God, she was vivid in his mind, right now. Every piece they made, the strong, thin fingers picked up, examined; tossing her head back, holding the piece high. Juliana sorting, always a witness to what he had done.
p131-132, The Man in The High Castle, Philip K. Dick,1962
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