The Distant Clue
The dampness of the Abbey of St. Jude did not smell of mold, but of old blood and wet wool, a scent that had seeped into the very pores of the stone walls over centuries of silent penance. Brother Thomas sat in the narrow alcove of his cell, the rough hessian of his robe scraping against his jaw as he held the small glass vial to the dim light of a single tallow candle. Inside the glass, a...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima