The Distant Wound
The rain in the city did not fall so much as it hung, a persistent, grey mist that clung to the wool of coats and the rusted iron of the fire escapes, blurring the line between the sky and the soot-blackened brickwork of the industrial district. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his narrow, top-floor room, watching the street below where the gas lamps flickered weakly against the damp. He was...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen