Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
10th Mar 2014 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #daylighthaunting
This was different. It had the whiff of a refined and intelligent malice, and I suddenly felt the presence of Jack Randall at my shoulder, so strongly that I came to an abrupt halt and spun round.
The street was busy, but there was no one behind me. No glimpse of a red coat anywhere, though there were Continental officers here and there, in blue and buff.
“Bugger off, Captain,” I said, under my breath. Not quite far enough under; I got a wide-eyed look from a round little woman selling pretzels from a tray round her neck. She glanced over her shoulder to see who I was speaking to, then turned back to me with a look of concern.
“You are all right, madam?” she said in a heavy German accent.
“Yes,” I said, embarrassed. “Yes, quite all right. Thank you.”
“Take this,” she said kindly, handing me a pretzel. “I think you are hungry.” And waving off my fumbling attempt at payment, she went off down the street, wide hips rolling, waving a stick stacked with pretzels like quoits and shouting, “_Brezeln! Heißen Brezeln!_”
Feeling suddenly dizzy, I leaned against the front of a building, closed my eyes, and bit into the pretzel. It was chewy, fresh, and rimed with salt, and I discovered that the woman had been right. I _was_ hungry. Starved, in fact.
The pretzel hit my stomach and then my bloodstream with an instant sense of stability and well-being, and the momentary panic I’d felt evaporated so quickly that I could almost believe it hadn’t happened. Almost.