The Golden Visit
The train did not arrive at the station; it materialized from the fog like a bruise on the sky. Margaret Holloway pressed her forehead against the cold glass, watching the iron beast shudder to a halt in the gray void of the Yorkshire moors. It was not a station she recognized, nor a line on any map she had ever studied, yet the platform was there, slick with rain and smelling of wet wool and...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare