The dizziness isn't as bad when he closes his eyes anymore. Curtis lets his eyes slip shut, curling his arm around her shoulders again.
He's thinking of the greenhouse car, and the aquarium car: those bursts of life in all the gray, that twist of awe and envy and deep, abiding disgust at the extravagances of the Front. The envy and disgust flicker like the shadow of moth-wings in a bright light; the quiet awe blots them out as he imagines Dejah sitting in a thick garden under an unfamiliar sky.
(The Front would never feel selfish for spending time in a garden. They'd see it as their due.)
"It sounds beautiful," he whispers. "You think I could see it when we're there?"
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He's thinking of the greenhouse car, and the aquarium car: those bursts of life in all the gray, that twist of awe and envy and deep, abiding disgust at the extravagances of the Front. The envy and disgust flicker like the shadow of moth-wings in a bright light; the quiet awe blots them out as he imagines Dejah sitting in a thick garden under an unfamiliar sky.
(The Front would never feel selfish for spending time in a garden. They'd see it as their due.)
"It sounds beautiful," he whispers. "You think I could see it when we're there?"