By Katsuhiro Otomo
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Additional resources for Akira Vol. 1, No. 2
The launch moved steadily toward the land; and the two women stood staring, unable to speak, long after it was out of sight. Back to Table of Contents Anachron THE BODY was never found. And for that reason alone, there was no body to find. It sounds like inverted logic—which, in a sense, it is—but there's no paradox involved. It was a perfectly orderly and explicable event, even though it could only have happened to a Castellare. Odd fish, the Castellare brothers. Sons of a Scots-Englishwoman and an expatriate Italian, born in England, educated on the Continent, they were at ease anywhere in the world and at home nowhere.
Oh, very well, then,” said Harold pettishly, turning half away. He paused. " The first two complied slowly. The third, the lean one, fired through his coat pocket, just like the gangsters in the American movies. It was not a sharp sensation at all, Harold was surprised to find; it was more as if someone had hit him in the side with a cricket bat. The racket seemed to bounce interminably from the walls. He felt the gun jolt in his hand as he fired back, but couldn't tell if he had hit anybody.
Each, at about the age of thirty, had given up the world of people for an inner world of more precise and more enduring pleasures. Each was an amateur—a fanatical, compulsive amateur. They had been born out of their time. Peter's passion was virtu. He collected relentlessly, it would not be too much to say savagely; he collected as some men hunt big game. His taste was catholic, and his acquisitions filled the huge rooms of the palace and half the vaults under them—paintings, statuary, enamels, porcelain, glass, crystal, metalwork.