The Faded Alibi
The steel die lay upon the velvet cushion, a square of cold, unyielding metal that Elias Thorne had spent the last three hours polishing until it reflected not the workshop’s dim gaslight, but the hollowed, bloodshot eyes of the man holding the loupe. Outside, the London sky was a bruised purple, heavy with the autumn rain that had been falling since the news of the Somme had reached the city,...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare