Stokers Shadow
“Mary turns her head from her tiny dressing table, too excited to write any more letters. Instead, she stands, walks towards the window, and tugs the little curtains apart on their brass rollers. She gazes into the star-pinned night and its cobalt sky which falls beyond like a silken cloak. The curtains continue rippling against her fingers like butterfly wings as she draws in the London air. The tingle of the whole Empire dances on her tongue; the perfumes ministered to Scheherazade in her Arab...ian jail are interlaced with the petal-tongued blooms and burning spices of India.
Her eyes close involuntarily; she can hear the faraway squeal of a tram and the faint whoosh of a motor car. A smile comes to her face unbidden. She feels that she is everywhere and nowhere all at once: she is in the heart of the mightiest city on earth with its proud landscape of stone; she is on the rolling shores of her home in Galway Bay with the rush and sizzle of the tide beneath her feet; she is in an imaginary world of howling wolves and castles, and carriages that hurtle like bullets through the darkness.MoreLess
Her eyes close involuntarily; she can hear the faraway squeal of a tram and the faint whoosh of a motor car. A smile comes to her face unbidden. She feels that she is everywhere and nowhere all at once: she is in the heart of the mightiest city on earth with its proud landscape of stone; she is on the rolling shores of her home in Galway Bay with the rush and sizzle of the tide beneath her feet; she is in an imaginary world of howling wolves and castles, and carriages that hurtle like bullets through the darkness.MoreLess
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