"Reamde"

[fiefoe]

It suddenly occurred to me that this can be categorized as a 网游 novel.

• a man with a long white beard, gazing about the crater somewhat in the manner of someone who has just turned on the light in his pantry and is looking for cockroaches.
• The channel through which these images had reached them was extremely confusing (decryption key pulled out of a dead man’s wallet by a Hungarian in the Philippines communicating with an American in Canada, the conversation taking place on an imaginary planet),
• "I didn’t reckon that he was going to set the whole thing up like Sherman’s march to the sea.” “Did you notice his leapfrogging cavalry screens?”

All over the place:

• tuck-pointing, which was the process of repairing old brick structures by putting fresh mortar—historically correct mortar, it went without saying—into the spaces between the bricks.
• He was lean, like a strip of bacon that had spent too long in the pan,
• cerulean-collar worker, putting on an ironical performance of work,
• “THIS FRICKIN’ PHONE is attached to the wall by an actual wire,” said  Seamus Costello, with a mix of horror and disgust, when he became awake enough to understand such facts. “How the hell are you reaching me over a wire!?”
• The psychological stance was the thing: the implicit faith, a little naive and a little cocky, that by banging his head against the problem for long enough he’d be able to break through in the end.
• found a flatbed car that was still capable of rolling down the rails bolted into its floor. Zula, after inspecting it for piano wires and Claymore mines, insisted that Chet sit down on it. She got her hands on his shoulders and pushed him along down the rails for a surprisingly long time,
• while maintaining nonstop connectivity and assuaging their guilty consciences in re global warming, fair trade, and the regrettable side effects of Manifest Destiny.
• Why do you think it’s a diversion?” “Extreme size of explosion. Ridiculous. Purpose is to turn bodies into vapor, destroy evidence.”
• If there was anything spies were good at, it was carrying lot of cash.
• But the others were having none of it. They bunched behind him, peering over his shoulder or around his elbow to read the cover of the brochure he’d just pulled from the rack: SELKIRK HELICOPTER TOURS.

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