"Mary Janice Davidson - Betsy 01.5 - Dead Girls Don't Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

Nor bird nor beast

Could make me wish for anything this day,

Being old, but that the old alone might die,

And that would be against God's Providence.

Let the young wish.



W. B. Yeats




Prologue



^»

SHE stood on the shore of Lake Michigan and looked out at the black water. At

her back, Chicago rocked and reeled; it was Saturday night, and all the colleges

were back in session.

It wasn't the first shore she'd stood on, nor the first body of water she'd

stared at. It certainly wasn't the first evening she'd spent pacing the beach

after a meal, nor the first big city she'd visited. Always a visitor, never a

resident.
One thing remained the same, of course: it was dark. Dawn was coming—she could

feel the sun, her enemy, slipping up over the horizon. She would have to leave

soon.

She hadn't felt anything but artificial light on her face in a long, long time.

And now, of course, if she ever did feel the sun, it would be the last thing she

felt.