The Distant Summer
The gold is in the bottom chest, Thomas. Do you hear me? In the bottom chest, under the wool, where the damp cannot reach it. Silas’s voice was a dry scrape, like a bone dragging across stone. He did not look at Thomas. He looked at the ice forming on the rim of his cup, a thin white ring that he broke with a thumbnail. Thomas stood by the wagon wheel, his hands thick with the cold, listening...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen