Читать книгу In the Mouth of the Wolf - Michael Morpurgo - Страница 16

T

he scops owl is still hooting to the world, to me,

wishing me a happy birthday. But the church bell

has chimed one o’clock. So my birthday is well and truly over. A cloud is passing over the moon, darkening my room. I don’t like the dark, never have. Nor did Pieter. He hated to be alone at night. When he was little he often used to come into my room and crawl into my bed.

I never told Pieter I was frightened of

the dark too. We used to count the

stars we could see to take our

minds off the dark, and I would

teach him the names of all the

stars I knew. He told me once

how much he longed to go there,

to the stars.