suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

“It’s getting chilly. We better go in,” he says. Inside the
dome, it’s warm and bright. His tone is conversational. “Your
friend Gale. He’s the one who took your sister away at the
reaping?”
“Yes. Do you know him?” I ask.
“Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he
was your cousin or something. You favor each other,” he says.
“No, we’re not related,” I say.
Peeta nods, unreadable. “Did he come to say good-bye to
you?”
“Yes,” I say, observing him carefully. “So did your father. He
brought me cookies.”
Peeta raises his eyebrows as if this is news. But after
watching him lie so smoothly, I don’t give this much weight.
“Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes
he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys.”
The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the
dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta’s house
gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out
of the room.
“He knew your mother when they were kids,” says Peeta.
Another surprise. But probably true. “Oh, yes. She grew up
in town,” I say. It seems impolite to say she never mentioned
the baker except to compliment his bread.
We’re at my door. I give back his jacket. “See you in the
morning then.”
“See you,” he says, and walks off down the hall.
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