‘Not plagued, lass. There was no great unleashing of brutality here. Only sadness, and even that was naught but a subcurrent. Cities die. Cities mimic the cycle of every living thing: birth, vigorous youth, maturity, old age, then finally . . . dust and potsherds. In the last century of this place, the sea was already receding, even as a new influence arrived, something foreign. There was a brief renaissance – we’ll see evidence of that ahead, at the harbour – but it was short-lived.’ He was silent for a dozen or so paces. ‘You know, Felisin, I begin to understand something of the lives of the
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