Justice was like coloured balls in a magician’s hand, changing colour and shape all the time beneath the light of politics.

407Justice was like coloured balls in a magician’s hand, changing colour and shape all the time beneath the light of politics.

The wind languished. The floral curtain ceased flapping. The moonlight streamed through, lighting up her face. It was a young, animated face. At that moment, it touched a string, a peg, deep inside him.

If you work hard enough at something, it begins to make itself part of you, even though you do not really like it and know that part isn’t real.