Since My Father Died And I Stopped

Exactly How Am I Supposed To Work In A Thank-you In There? Somehow It Just Won't Seem Sincere If I'm Trying To Slit His Throat.

The Idea Of Being Strong For Someone Else Having Never Entered Their Heads, I Find Myself In The Position Of Having To Console Them. Since I'm The Person Going In To Be Slaughtered, This Is Somewhat Annoying.

The More You Can Distract Yourself, The Better.

Yes, And I’m Sure The Arena Will Be Full Of Bags Of Flour For Me To Chuck At People.

But It's Posy, Gale's Five-year-old Sister, Who Helps The Most. She Scoots Along The Bench To Octavia And Touches Her Skin With A Tentative Finger. “you're Green. Are You Sick?” “it's A Fashion Thing, Posy. Like Wearing Lipstick,” I Say. “it's Meant To Be Pretty,” Whispers Octavia, And I Can See The Tears Threatening To Spill Over Her Lashes. Posy Considers This And Says Matter-of-factly, “i Think You'd Be Pretty In Any Color.