The Distant Cartograph
The rain in Leeds did not wash things clean. It only made the grime slick. It turned the cobblestones into black mirrors reflecting the gaslight of the passing trams. Elias Vane stood at the window of his small, rented room on Park Row. He was a man carved from the same grey stone as the city. His shoulders hunched under the weight of years, or perhaps just the weight of the wool coat he wore....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen