The Distant Garden
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Corrective Posture was not a room so much as it was a held breath, suspended in the amber light of gaslamps that burned with a hum low enough to vibrate in the teeth. Margaret Holloway sat at the long oak table, her spine straighter than the iron bars of the window grille above, her hands folded in her lap with a stillness that was less peace and more...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima