The Golden Crossing
The air in the basement of the St. Jude’s Home for the Indigent smelled of boiled cabbage and stale lavender, a scent that had seeped into the pores of Margaret Holloway’s skin over the last forty years until it was indistinguishable from her own. She stood before the great copper still, the heat radiating from its curved belly like the breath of a sleeping beast, and watched the amber liquid...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima