The Golden Cellar
"Put it down, Thomas." He did not. His hands were trembling, not from the cold, though the November air was a knife against his cheeks, but from a vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself. The cellar door lay open behind him, exhaling a breath of stale wine and wet stone. He clutched the bottle. It was not gold. It was not even particularly old. It was a heavy, dark glass vessel,...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 2 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр