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The Spy Who Came In From The Cold Epub

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From the New York Times bestselling author of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; Our Kind of Traitor; and The Night Manager, now a television series starring Tom. Cold war spy top story. The Spy Who Came In From The dovolena-na-lodi.info byJohn LeCarre Identifierpdfdownloadthespywho Carr has spun a single plot as ingenious and thrilling as the two predecessors on which it looks back: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and.

Meanwhile, Liz, who had been invited to East Germany for a Communist Party information exchange, is forced to testify at the tribunal. Called by Mundt's attorney as a witness she admits that Smiley paid her apartment lease after visiting her, and that she promised Leamas that she would not look for him after he disappeared.

1. Politics and entertainment: the rise of the Spy Thriller

She also admits that he had said good-bye to her the night before he assaulted the grocer. Realizing that their cover is blown, Leamas offers to tell all in exchange for Liz's freedom, admitting that Control gave him the mission to frame Mundt as a double agent. But when the tribunal halts the trial and arrests Fiedler, Leamas finally understands the true nature of Control and Smiley's scheme. Liz is confined to a jail cell, but Mundt releases her and puts her in a car that will take her to freedom; Leamas is at the wheel.

During their drive to Berlin, Leamas explains everything: Mundt is, in fact, a double agent reporting to Smiley. Leamas and Liz unwittingly provided Mundt with the means of discrediting Leamas, and in turn, Fiedler. Their intimate relationship facilitated the plan. Liz realizes to her horror that their actions have enabled the Circus to protect their asset, the despicable Mundt, at the expense of the thoughtful and idealistic Fiedler.

Liz asks what will become of Fiedler; Leamas replies that he will most likely be executed. I didn't want to get mixed up in this side of his life, at any rate not for the present. I was happy to have him absolutely to myself for our one day a week. I didn't want to share him with a crowd of other people who would anyway make me shy. So things were left very much in the air, and I just didn't look beyond the next Saturday.

That day Derek was particularly affectionate and in the evening he took me to the Bridge Hotel and we had three rounds of gins and tonics, though usually we hardly drank at all. And then he insisted on champagne for dinner and by the time we got to our little cinema we were both rather tight. I was glad, because it would make me forget that tomorrow would mean the turning of a new page and the breaking up of all our darling routines.

But when we got into our little box, Derek was morose. He didn't take me in his arms as usual but sat a little away from me and smoked and watched the film. I came close to him and took his hand, but he just sat and looked straight in front of him.

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I asked him what was the matter. After a moment he said obstinately, 'I want to sleep with you. Properly, I mean. It was his rough tone of voice. We had talked about it of course, but it was always agreed, more or less, that this would come 'later'. Now I used the same old arguments, but I was nervous and upset. Why did he have to spoil our last evening? He argued back, fiercely.

I was being a hard-boiled virgin. It was bad for him. Anyway, we were lovers, so why not behave like lovers? I said I was frightened of getting a baby. He said that was easy. There were things he could wear. But why now? I argued. We couldn't do it here. Oh yes we could. There was plenty of room. And he wanted to do it before he went up to Oxford. It would sort of, sort of marry us. Tremulously I considered this. Perhaps there was something in it. It would be a kind of seal on our love.

But I was frightened. Hesitantly I said had he got one of these 'things'? He said no, but there was an all-night chemist and he would go and buy one. And he kissed me and got up eagerly and walked out of the box. I sat and stared dully at the screen. Now I couldn't refuse him! He would come back and it would be messy and horrible in this filthy little box in this filthy little back-street cinema and it was going to hurt and he would despise me afterwards for giving in.

I had an instinct to get up and run out and down to the station and take the next train back to London. But that would make him furious. It would hurt his vanity. I wouldn't be being 'a sport', and the rhythm of our friendship, so much based on us both 'having fun', would be wrecked. And, after all, was it fair on him to hold this back from him? Perhaps it really was bad for him not to be able to do it properly.

And, after all, it had to happen sometime. One couldn't choose the perfect moment for that particular thing. No girl ever seemed to enjoy the first time. Perhaps it would be better to get it over with. Anything not to make him angry!

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Anything better than the danger of wrecking our love! The door opened and there was a brief shaft of light from the lobby. Then he was beside me, breathless and excited. There was a girl behind the counter.

I didn't know what to call it. I finally said, "One of those things for not having babies. You know. She asked me what quality. I said the best of course. I almost thought she was going to ask "What size? I giggled feebly back. Better to 'be a sport'! Better not to make a drama out of it! Nowadays nobody did. It would make it all so embarrassing, particularly for him.

His preliminary love-making was so perfunctory it almost made me cry. Then he pushed his chair to the back of the box and took off his coat and laid it down on the wooden floor. When he told me to, I lay down on it and he knelt beside me. He said to put my feet up against the front of the box and I did, and I was so cramped and uncomfortable that I said, 'No, Derek! Not here! And then the world fell in! There was suddenly a great gush of yellow light and a furious voice said from above and behind me, 'What the hell do you think you're doing in my cinema?

Get up, you filthy little swine. Derek was standing, his face white as a sheet. I scrambled to my feet, banging against the wall of the box. I stood there, waiting to be killed, waiting to be shot dead.

The black silhouette in the doorway pointed at my bag on the floor with the white scrap of my pants beside it. The manager banged the door of the box shut and got in front of us, thinking, I suppose, that we might make a run for it.

Two or three people had seeped out of the back seats into the foyer. The whole audience must have heard the manager's voice. Had the seats below us heard the whole thing, the argument, the pause, then Derek's instructions what to do?

I shuddered. The ticket woman had come out of her box and one or two passersby, who had been examining the programme, gazed in from under the cheap coloured lights over the entrance.

The manager was a plump, dark man with a tight suit and a flower in his buttonhole. His face was red with rage as he looked us up and down.

You're nothing better than a common prostitute. I've a damned good mind to call the police. Indecent exposure. Disturbing the peace. He must have used them often before in his sleazy little house of private darkness.

He was looking at Derek. Only the Henley-Oxford road. At the back,' he added weakly. My mouth was dry.

I swallowed. I gaped hopelessly at him. I remembered Chelsea. The manager snapped his book shut. Get out of here both of you. We edged nervously past him and he followed us, still pointing.

I know you both! You ever show up again, I'll have the police on you! I took Derek's arm why didn't he take mine? We didn't stop until we got to a side street and we went in there and slowly started to work our way back to where the MG was parked up the hill from the cinema. Derek didn't say a word until we were getting close to the car. Then he said, matter-of-factly, 'Mustn't let them get the number. I'll go and get her, and pick you up opposite Fullers on Windsor Hill.

I stood and watched him go, the tall, elegant figure that was once more proud and upright, and then I turned and went back to where a lane led up parallel with Farquhar Street towards the Castle. I found that I still had my pants crushed in my hand. I put them in my bag. The open bag made me think of my appearance.

I stopped under a street-light and took out my mirror.

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I looked dreadful. My face was so white it was almost green, and my eyes belonged to a hunted animal. My hair stuck up at the back where it had been rumpled by the floor and my mouth was smeared by Derek's kisses. All of me felt unclean, degraded, sinful. What would happen to us? Would the man check on the addresses and put the police on us? Someone would certainly remember us from today or from other Saturdays.

Someone would remember the number of Derek's car, some little boy who collected car numbers. There was always some Nosey Parker at the scene of a crime. Yes, of course it was, one of the worst in puritan England--sex, nakedness, indecent exposure. I imagined what the manager must have seen when Derek got up from me. I shivered with disgust. But now Derek would be waiting for me. My hands had automatically been tidying my face.

I gave it a last look. It was the best I could do. I hurried on up the street and turned down Windsor Hill, hugging the wall, expecting people to turn and point. Opposite Fullers, a policeman was standing by Derek's car, arguing with him. Derek turned and saw me.

I said she wouldn't be a minute. Had to, er, powder her nose. Didn't you, darling?

More lies! I said yes, breathlessly, and climbed into the seat beside Derek. The policeman grinned slyly at me, and said to Derek, 'All right, sir. But another time remember there's no parking on the Hill. Even for an emergency like that. Derek put the car in gear, thanked the policeman and gave him the wink of a dirty joke shared, and we were off at last.

Derek said nothing until we had turned right at the lights at the bottom. I thought he was going to drop me at the station, but he continued on along the Datchet road. Thought we were for it. Nice thing for my parents to read in the paper tomorrow. And Oxford! I should have had it. The path of true love and all that. He had recovered. When would I? There's an hour before the train. Why don't we walk up along the river. It's a well-known beat for Windsor couples.

Absolutely private. Pity to waste everything, time and so on, now we've made up our minds. I was aghast. I said urgently, 'Oh, but I can't, Derek! I simply can't! You've no idea how awful I feel about what happened. You feeling ill or something? It's just that, that it was all so horrible. So shaming. Come on. Be a sport! But I did want to be comforted, feel his arms round me, be certain he still loved me, although everything had gone so wrong for him. But my legs began to tremble at the thought of going through it all again.

I clutched my knees with my hands to control them. I said weakly, 'Oh, well He helped me over a stile into a field and put his arm round me and guided me along the little towpath past some house-boats moored under the willows.

Lovely double bed. Probably some drink in the cupboards. For heaven's sake! There's been enough trouble. Are you the owners of this boat? Come on out and let's have a look at you. Anyway the grass is just as soft. Aren't you excited? You'll see. It's wonderful. Then we'll really be lovers. But you will be gentle, won't you?

I shan't be any good at it the first time. I'll show you. It was lovely walking with him in the moonlight. But there was a grove of trees ahead and I looked at it fearfully.

I knew that would be where it was going to happen. I must, I must make it easy and good for him!

I mustn't be silly! I mustn't cry! The path led through the grove. Derek looked about him. Keep your head down. Sure enough, there was a little clearing. Other people had been there before.

There was a cigarette packet, a Coca-Cola bottle. The moss and leaves had been beaten down. I had the feeling that this was a brothel bed where hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lovers had pressed and struggled. But now there was no turning back.

At least it must be a good place for it if so many others had used it. Derek was eager, impatient. He put his coat down for me and at once started, almost feverishly, his hands devouring me. I tried to melt, but my body was still cramped with nerves and my limbs felt like wood. I wished he would say something, something sweet and loving, but he was intent and purposeful, manhandling me almost brutally, treating me as if I was a big clumsy doll.

I could hear the deep bass of 'Hoppy' Jones and the sweet soprano counterpoint of Bill Kenny, so piercingly sweet that it tore at the heartstrings. And underneath, the deep pulse-beat of Charlie Fuqua's guitar. The tears squeezed out of my eyes. Oh, God, what was happening to me? And then the sharp pain and the short scream I quickly stifled and he was lying on top of me, his chest heaving and his heart beating heavily against my breast.

I put my arms round him and felt his shirt wet against my hands. We lay like that for long minutes. I watched the moonlight filtering down through the branches, and tried to stop my tears. So that was it! The great moment. A moment I would never have again.

So now I was a woman and the girl was gone! And there had been no pleasure, only pain like they all said. But there remained something. This man in my arms.

I held him more tightly to me. I was his now, entirely his, and he was mine. He would look after me. We belonged. Now I would never be alone again. There were two of us. Derek kissed my wet cheek and scrambled to his feet. He held out his hands and I pulled down my skirt and he hauled me up. He looked into my face and there was embarrassment in his half-smile. But was it all right for you? He looked at his watch. Only a quarter of an hour for the train! We'd better get moving.

Derek walked silently beside me. His face under the moon was now closed, and when I put my arm through his there was no answering pressure. I wished he would be loving, talk about our next meeting, but I could feel that he was suddenly withdrawn, cold.

I hadn't got used to men's faces after they've done it. I blamed myself. It hadn't been good enough. And I had cried. I had spoiled it for him. We came to the car, and drove silently to the station. I stopped him at the entrance. Under the yellow light his face was taut and strained and his eyes only half met mine. I said, 'Don't come to the train, darling. I can find my way. What about next Saturday? I could come down to Oxford.

Or would you rather wait until you're settled in? Things are going to be different at Oxford. I'll have to see. Write to you.

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This was so different from our usual parting. Perhaps he was tired. God knew I was! I said, 'Yes, of course. But write to me quickly, darling.

I'd like to know how you're getting on. His own lips hardly responded. He nodded. I had written twice, but there had been no answer. In desperation I had even telephoned, but the man at the other end had gone away and come back and said that Mr Mallaby wasn't at home. The letter began, 'Dear Viv, This is going to be a difficult letter to write.

The letter went on to say that it had been a wonderful summer and he would never forget me. But now his life had changed and he would have a lot of work to do and there wouldn't be much room for 'girls'.

He had told his parents about me, but they disapproved of our 'affair'. They said it wasn't fair to go on with a girl if one wasn't going to marry her. We had such a marvellous time together and you were such a sport that I didn't want to spoil it all. With much love, happy memories, Derek. Accounts of other people's aches and pains are uninteresting because they are so similar to everybody else's, so I won't go into details.

I didn't even tell Susan. As I saw it, I'd behaved like a tramp, from the very first evening, and I'd been treated like a tramp. In this tight little world of England, I was a Canadian, and therefore a foreigner, an outsider--fair game.

The fact that I hadn't seen it happening to me was more fool me. Born yesterday! Better get wise, or you'll go on being hurt! But beneath this open-eyed, chin-up rationalization, the girl in me whimpered and cringed, and for a time I cried at night and went down on my knees to the Holy Mother I had forsaken and prayed that She would give Derek back to me.

But of course She wouldn't, and my pride forbade me to plead with him or to follow up my curt little note of acknowledgement to his letter and the return of the champagne to Fortnum's. The endless summer had ended. All that was left were some poignant Ink Spot memories, and the imprint of the nightmare in the cinema in Windsor, the marks of which I knew I would bear all my life.

I was lucky. The job I had been trying for came up. It was through the usual friend-of-a-friend, and it was on the Chelsea Clarion, a glorified parish magazine that had gone in for small ads and had established itself as a kind of market-place for people looking for flats and rooms and servants in the south-west part of London.

It had added some editorial pages that dealt only with local problems--the hideous new lamp standards, infrequent buses on the Number 11 route, the theft of milk bottles--things that really affected the local housewives, and it ran a whole page of local gossip, mostly 'Chelsea', that 'everybody' came to read and that somehow managed to dodge libel actions. Fiedler and Mundt are released, then summoned to present their cases to a tribunal convened in camera.

At the trial, Leamas documents a series of secret bank account payments that Fiedler has matched to the movements of Mundt, while Fiedler presents other evidence implicating Mundt as a British agent.

Meanwhile, Liz, who had been invited to East Germany for a Communist Party information exchange, is forced to testify at the tribunal. Called by Mundt's attorney as a witness she admits that Smiley paid her apartment lease after visiting her, and that she promised Leamas that she would not look for him after he disappeared.

She also admits that he had said good-bye to her the night before he assaulted the grocer. Realizing that their cover is blown, Leamas offers to tell all in exchange for Liz's freedom, admitting that Control gave him the mission to frame Mundt as a double agent.

But when the tribunal halts the trial and arrests Fiedler, Leamas finally understands the true nature of Control and Smiley's scheme. Liz is confined to a jail cell, but Mundt releases her and puts her in a car that will take her to freedom; Leamas is at the wheel. During their drive to Berlin, Leamas explains everything: Mundt is, in fact, a double agent reporting to Smiley. Leamas and Liz unwittingly provided Mundt with the means of discrediting Leamas, and in turn, Fiedler. Their intimate relationship facilitated the plan.The path of true love and all that.

In fact, I had come all the way from London to The Dreamy Pines Motor Court which is ten miles west of Lake George, the famous American tourist resort in the Adirondacks--that vast expanse of mountains, lakes and pine forests which forms most of the northern territory of New York State. I came close to him and took his hand, but he just sat and looked straight in front of him. Derek didn't say a word until we were getting close to the car.

She falls and as Smiley calls out to Leamas from the other side of the wall, he hesitates. I might have realized, or at any rate guessed, that, at least among amateur women as opposed to prostitutes, there is no physical love without emotional involvement--over a long period, that is. His preliminary love-making was so perfunctory it almost made me cry.

There were two of us.

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