By Dana Cameron
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Additional info for A Fugitive Truth
He shook his head violently, scenery apparently not big on his list of priorities. “Oh no, no thank you. It’s just trees and cold out there. ” Jack was doing his best to be kind. He reached over and pulled out the batteries from a charger plugged in by the sink. “You can meet Michael and Faith. Faith’s staying in town tonight, doing work there for a couple of days, so you won’t get a chance to meet her until she gets back midweek. But perhaps that’s just as well, she’s er, a bit, um, you know…” I cocked my head and smiled vaguely to encourage him, but apparently Jack thought better of it.
The whole impact was one of self-indulgence and image consciousness. When I’d explained who I was, he’d snatched my letter from me—resulting in the paper cut—and then studied the paper like it was a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls. When I called out again, he took his time sticking his head out the window, moving with the lassitude of a reptile in a cold climate. ” I shouted over my engine. ” The guard looked at me with a disapproving frown, then cast a glance at a clipboard with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
Michael got up and stretched, catlike, then slunk over to prop up the mantelpiece. “I just can’t stand how naive they were. ” That floored me; shouldn’t he have been acting more the role of the apologist, if he were interested in them? “Sure, naive, but they thought they could change the world with their ideals. ” Then I couldn’t resist asking. ” “I study the history of American philosophy, and there was money in them,” he said, with a monumental shrug of resignation. ” He must have seen the unconcealed look of surprise on my face, but Michael just laughed hugely and humorlessly.
A Fugitive Truth by Dana Cameron