Kitty Peck And The Child Of Ill-Fortune - Plot & Excerpts
He held the bundle in his arms a little higher so that I could see it clear. Robbie fretted and wriggled. One hand flailed free from the blanket, clenching uselessly at the air. He screwed up his nutshell face and began to cry, although the sound came as feeble ragged gulps. Behind them in the tunnel a mound of grey lay motionless in the water huddled against the blackened bricks. Della. Misha stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp. His cloak was ripped and covered in dust. He nodded at the precipice. ‘You cannot go any further, Kitty. It is . . . Schicksal, suerte, sort, destino. I can say it in many languages. In my own tongue it is sud’ba. I believe you would say fate?’ He paused. ‘The other word you will learn today is smert – death.’ The skin of his hand was blotched and livid. The cloak seemed to be welded to his flesh. He saw my eyes flick to the burns and he shrugged. ‘It is nothing – it will heal.’ He licked his wide pink lips.
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