The Blind Assassin

“Not enough rain, say the farmers. The cicadas pierce the air with their searing one-note calls; dust eddies across the roads; from the weedy patches at the verges, grasshoppers whir. The leaves of the maple hang from their branches like limp gloves; on the sidewalk my shadow crackles.”

from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood pg. 83

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