The Distant Clue
Thomas. The name was called by Brother Anselm, but it was not a summons. It was a warning. The old man’s voice was thin, scraped raw by the fever that had taken half the scriptorium in the last fortnight. He lay on the straw pallet in the corner of the writing room, his breathing a wet, rattling sound that cut through the silence of the afternoon. Thomas stood by the desk, his quill poised over...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare