Page 120 - The Midnight Library
P. 120

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                   Conversation      was   tempting,   but   dangerous.   Nora   smiled   a   small,   polite

                smile   and   then   looked   out   of   the   window.   e   islands   of   ice   turned   into
                actual  islands.  Little  snow-streaked  pointed  hills,  like  the  tips  of  mountains,
                or flatter, cragg y plates of land. And beyond them, the  glacier Nora had seen
                from  the  cabin  porthole.  She  could  get  a  better  measure  of  it  now,  although

                its  top  portion  was  concealed  under  a  visor  of  cloud.  Other  parts  of  it  were
                entirely free from fog. It was incredible.
                   You   see   a   picture   of   a   glacier   on   T V   or   in   a   magazine   and   you   see   a
                smooth  lump  of  white.  But  this  was  as  textured  as  a  mountain.  Black-brown

                and   white.   And   there   were   infinite   varieties   of   that   white,   a   whole   visual
                smorgasbord  of  variation  –  white-white,  blue-white,  turquoise-white,  gold-
                white,    silver-white,    translucent-white      –   rendered     glaringly    alive   and
                impressive. Certainly more impressive than the breakfast.

                   ‘Depressing, isn’t it?’ Hugo said.
                   ‘What?’
                   ‘ e fact that the day never ends.’
                   Nora felt uneasy with this obser vation. ‘In what sense? ’

                   He waited a second before responding.
                   ‘ e   never-ending     light,’   he   said,   before   taking   a   bite   of   a   dr y   cracker.
                ‘From April on. It’s like living one interminable day . . . I hate that feeling.’
                   ‘ Tell me about it.’

                   ‘You’d think they’d give the portholes curtains. Hardly slept since  I’ve  been
                on this boat.’
                   Nora nodded. ‘How long is that again?’
                   He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Close-mouthed. Civilised. Hardly a laugh

                at all.
                   ‘I drank a lot with Ingrid last night. Vodka has stolen my memor y.’
                   ‘Are you sure it’s the vodka?’
                   ‘What else would it be?’

                   His eyes were inquisitive, and made Nora feel automatically guilty.
                   She  looked  over  at  Ingrid,  who  was  drinking  her  coffee  and  typing  on  her
                laptop. She wished she had sat with her now.
                   ‘Well,   that   was   our   third   night,’   Hugo   said.   ‘We   have   been   meandering

                around    the   archipelago    since   Sunday.   Yeah,   Sunday.   at’s    when    we   le
                Long yearbyen.’
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