The seagulls were loud that morning and drew me harshly away from the stillness of the bed. I picked up my water and drank through the minuscule specks of dust that had landed on the surface during the night. The house was quiet, my room stifling and radiator hot. I got up and went to the window and opened it wide to spring. It was still cold with not a hush of breeze, and the cloudless sky reached beyond the trees like the morning itself, suspended, unmoving, waiting.
Fra side 153 fra When God Was a Rabbit av Sarah Winman.
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