THE CAT OF WHISPERING OAKS
The mist on the Mississippi was not like the mist in books. In books, mist was romantic—silvery, mysterious, the kind of atmosphere that made people meet on bridges and confess things they'd rather forget. Real mist on the Mississippi was a living thing: wet and cold and smelling of rot and river mud and things that had died in the water and been waiting, patiently, for someone to walk too...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 6 Vue 0 Aperçu