In London, the snow had never been white. It hadn't snowed often but, when it had, it had been grey like ash, which made sense when, most of the time, the world had felt like it was on fire. On the island, the snow is white and thick and it's like icing on the wedding cake of a hut that her and Babe find themselves living in. Nelson's wearing
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Comments 41
Babe's girlfriend throwing clumps of snow at a very unhappy-looking cat looked like just the thing. Harry stopped, leaning back against a tree and enjoying the show.
"I don't think it appreciates you doing that, y'know," he remarked.
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"He's developed this habit for stockpiling all of Babe's socks. We're not...entirely sure what he's planning."
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"Cats are like that. Can't trust 'em further than you can throw 'em." If it'd been a dog he'd have gone and given it a good scratching behind the ears, but when he tried to that with cats they usually gave him a withering look of contempt and dashed away. "Bit cruel dumping snow on it, though."
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"You obviously haven't met Nelson before. He's a mean little bastard. He'll live."
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She did notice that there was something 'lighter' about her expression-her throwing snow balls at the cat only confirmed it.
"Kinda pointles when it can't throw snowballs back." She commented. Sonya managed to scrap the pink and orange parka for one in deep green, deciding that while the weather was calm, it was no excuse to stay cooped up inside-not that she ever remained inside unless she was ill.
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She held out her hand. "Your name's Eden, right?"
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"Major Eden Sinclair."
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