The Distant Joke
The bone folder was thin, a sliver of ox hide worn smooth by thirty years of thumbs, and Elias Thorne held it against the spine of the psalter with a force that made his knuckles white. The vellum resisted, stiff and cold, refusing the gentle persuasion required to make the pages lie flat. His hand trembled. It was a small, irritating vibration, like a tuning fork struck against a table, but it...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews