exposed to the night, all its finery as shrivelled and battered as the silk flag with its black swan that fluttered, shredded, over their heads.
‘We’ll never survive.’ Claudia shook her head. ‘We don’t know how to any more.’
‘Yes we do,’ Attia said.
Keiro pointed. ‘So do they’ And she saw, faint and far, the candlepoints of flame in the cottages of the poor, the hovels where the Prison’s wrath and fury had brought no change.
‘Those are the stars too,’ Finn said quietly.
Вы читаете Sapphique
