The Wistful Incense
Thomas Bradshaw came up the cart track from the river copse with the dusk hard on his heels, a sheaf of green ash runners across his shoulder and a coil of rope under his arm, and he found the East Gate shut against him long before he reached it, the wicket barred and the great oak doors braced with timber, and through the seams he could smell the quarantine smoke of the town and hear the slow...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 62 Views 0 voorbeeld