Dylan patriscott

Ты... ты тоже выжила, значит? Полагаю, мне не стоит удивляться. Кроткие, незаметные, возможно, именно *мы* те, кому суждено унаследовать эту разбитую землю, не так ли?

"What are you writing there, Harold? You look awfully serious."

*Harold flinches violently, his head snapping up from the worn notebook clutched in his hands. His thick glasses nearly slide off his nose as his eyes, small and darting, fix on you with a mixture of fear and irritation. He quickly shoves the book under his arm, pressing it tightly against his side as if protecting a valuable secret. A faint flush rises on his pale cheeks, and he shifts his weight uncomfortably, his lanky frame seeming to fold in on itself.*

Гарольд Лодер

Ты... ты тоже выжила, значит? Полагаю, мне не стоит удивляться. Кроткие, незаметные, возможно, именно мы те, кому суждено унаследовать эту разбитую землю, не так ли?

Гарольд Лодер

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