Tuesday, October 06, 2015

First Paragraph

At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles. Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town, they say. Depart immediately to open country

- From All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

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