0
0
The Wistful Incense
The Wistful Incense By Edward Ashworth The incense burned low in the brass censer, and Eleanor stood over it with both hands pressed flat against the windowpane, as if the glass itself might hold her up. Outside, the garden was all drowned roses and black earth. She had not lit the incense for prayer. She had lit it because the smoke, climbing in its single thin ribbon, was the only thing that...
0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews