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316 pages, Paperback
First published April 5, 2014
Researching this thesis is an exercise in dedication, frustration, making up stuff, pretending I know what I’m doing, and wondering why nothing adds up.
What was the point of history, if you couldn’t learn from it? The people in history weren’t perfect any more than people now were. But surely, as scholars, they should be able to admit that imperfect people and imperfect decisions could yield lessons and wisdom.
It wasn’t as if it was ancient history either. The Revolution had begun less than fifteen years ago. One would think information would be available. Memories should be clear.
When she glanced up again, he was sitting, leaning forward with one arm resting on his knee.
“Why are you following me?” His voice was soft. “I’ve done nothing to you.”
“I wasn’t following you. I was walking, and I saw a shape here. I wasn’t sure it was you.” She edged a little closer. “I was worried. You were hurt, and the IPF…” her voice trailed away. “I thought they meant to help you at first.” She frowned.
He huffed softly, a short hard sound that might have been a laugh. “They never mean to help us.”
Aria tried to see him in the darkness. His form was shadowy, and she could see only the pale, angular shape of his face, his arms, and his bare feet. Closer. “I wasn’t looking for you, but you’re hurt. It’s freezing out here, and you don’t have any shoes. Let me give you mine. I have more at home. They’re boots, and they’re too big for me anyway. They ought to fit.”
She sat back and started to pull at her laces.
He reached forward and stopped her with one bare hand. “I’m fine.” There was a hint of warmth in his voice now, and she met his eyes.
He swallowed and looked away first, glancing back toward the empty street beyond the steep bank. “Thank you for your concern. It is unusual.”