The Distant Temple
The iron gate of the St. Jude’s Orphanage did not so much open as it yielded, a reluctant jaw parting to reveal the grey throat of the corridor behind it. Thomas, a boy of twelve whose knuckles were white and his breath ragged, pressed his back against the cold brick of the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was not alone in his panic, though he was alone in his...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews