Arkady looked at the other man. he felt that he was actually seeing him as a physical being for the first time...He tried to imagine that body with Bella, with any woman, and found the idea... not repulsive exactly, but incomprehensible. How would it work exactly? And how would either of them, knowing nothing of their lover's body, needs and desires, ever be able to satisfy the other?
Arkady's smile was probably intended to be reassuring, but it was a trifle too wide; with his wild white hair sticking out from under his curly brimmed beaver hat he looked slightly manic, like Christopher Lloyd in 'Back to the Future', a film Nick had finally stopped renting after the girl at the video store started calling him 'Marty McFly'.
Out ahead of them, Arkady began something very like a marching song, chanting lines answered by the other ferals, their voices ringing out across the sky, each to each. Temeraire added his own to the chorus, and little Iskierka began to scrabble at his neck, demanding, "What are they saying? What does it mean?" "We are flying home, " Temeraire said, translating. "We are all flying home.
Listen to us rather than to Arkady Mamontov talking about us. Don't twist and distort everything we say. Let us enter into dialogue and contact with the country, which is ours too, not just Putin's and the Patriarch's. Like Solzhenitsyn, I believe that in the end, words will crush concrete. Solzhenitsyn wrote, 'the word is more sincere than concrete, so words are not trifles. Once noble people mobilize, their words will crush concrete.'