The Golden Mirror
The first thing you notice about Arthur Penhaligon is not the man, but the hands. They are trembling, not with the cold or the fever, but with a frantic, rhythmic shaking that suggests he is trying to hold something invisible together. He sits in the corner of the intake ward, staring at a patch of wall where the plaster has cracked, and when I enter with the morning file, he does not look up....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews