The Golden Visit
The brass cloth moved in a slow, circular rhythm against the surface of the locket, a friction that generated a heat which Silas Vane could feel in the pad of his thumb even through the thin, damp air of the customs office. He was forty years old, a man whose face had been carved by the long, unbroken shift work of the border, and in the corner of the room, where the fog from the river pressed...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare