There had been certain – well, promises. A new age, a bright future, a glittering prize. Like magpies, they had lined up to grab it. But nobody had been inquisitive, not enough; nobody had cast it under cock-headed, quizzical scrutiny. One and all, they had fallen for the shine.
The shine was not a lie, in the same way the face in the shadow of a coat on a hook on the back of a door in the dead of night is not a lie. It was a misapprehension, and that was worse, because there was nobody to blame but themselves.
V for vignette 