Pick a card, any card.
No, not any card. I'm looking at two.
No, it's all in my head.
The wind runs right through me at railing. The ferry chugs across the Beagle channel, and sea birds loop over head, screeing and swooping. Sunlight strikes the water and glances off. Lydia narrows her eyes in the glare, but I feel my whole body opening, as though the light is unfolding me and spilling out of me all at the same time.
I can't describe it the right way--but someone must have. I think back through my books, but I don't want to think right now--not about books, not about cards, not about men. I don't want to think about what I want.
I lean into the wind even as it snaps my scarf and steals my breath from my throat.