“No,” she said, stepping forward. She couldn’t stop looking at the children.
As they walked down what could only be described as a center thoroughfare, Grace couldn’t believe all that she saw. It was like a bazaar. Food stalls and vendors. People standing around talking. Eating. Laughing.
“How do you get all of this down here?” she asked.
“The underground shipping lines are just up there.” He pointed at the dark above. From her place on the ground, Grace could see the faint outline of the delivery tubs crisscrossing in every direction. “Everything ordered from a household account travels in those lines. You purchase furniture for your living room or toiletries for your bathroom, it goes through here. You restock your fridge or need new sheets, we know about it first. Everything is boxed
