The Fall of Babel (The Books of Babel #4)

by Josiah Bancroft

“Forgive me, Captain, but I don’t think there’s any shame in doing your best. Of course, in hindsight, it’s easy to see a better course, a wiser choice. When I look back, I see a thousand small missteps that altogether brought me here. I try not to dwell on my mistakes because it doesn’t change them; it only changes me. I cannot live inside those awful moments, those naive blunders and prideful errors. It would drive me mad if I did.”

If she allowed herself a more familiar gesture—an embrace, for example—she was afraid she might blurt out the truth and say, “I destroyed the record of your affection in the hopes that it would purge what you said from my memory, but it did not, and no matter how I try, I can’t extinguish this stubborn feeling I have no right to feel. I know I must trade love for duty, but I’m afraid that will only work if I do not hold you like this or let your voice warm my ear.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way, Mr. Senlin. You could resent yourself for your imperfect enjoyment of your life, but that seems to me like a never-ending chore. A thankless one, too. I think that if we really knew how good our lives were while they were good, we’d be too scared to do anything, change anything. We’d never take a risk, or explore, or grow. You can hate yourself for not fully appreciating your happy days while you had them, or you could look back and be warmed by the memory, couldn’t you?”