![]() ![]() She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering gold or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy the world with. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they could not recall. ![]() Margot stood apart from them, from these children who could ever remember a time when there wasn’t rain and rain and rain. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. It had been raining for seven years thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun. ![]() "Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it ?" ![]()
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