It was mid-morning and a breeze was blowing, lifting the leaves on the plane trees so their silver undersides flashed like the bellies of trout. There was a similar nervous quality to the sunlight; it slipped down the gleaming onion-shaped domes as if, for today at least, it wanted to go unnoticed. It was barely ten minutes since they’d left the house, but already Nikolai could feel sweat running between his shoulder blades. He stepped aside to avoid a line of female factory workers pushing laden handcarts towards the outskirts of the city. They kept their eyes trained on the ground, anticipating bumps in the cobblestones; their sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms. The rumbling wheels drowned out the rest of what Sonya was saying, but Nikolai could see her lips forming words that were definitely defiant. Finally the procession of carts reached the other side of the square and the racket died away. But now Sonya wouldn’t move at all.
What do You think about 3 Great Historical Novels?
