“It was easier to mourn the cathedral than imagine the dead: women who spent their final seconds hunting for children still playing in the yard, to herd them into Anderson shelters so carefully dug in beneath the cabbage patches; the elderly, who almost made it down the road to the shelter before death swooped down on them; the deaf, reaching for a cup of tea, unaware of the hell unfolding around them; the hopeless, who sat back in their chairs and simply waited. Death would come from the sky one day. Why not tonight?”
Book:The Whisperer's War
