The Golden Greenhouse
Chapter One Muhammad Haddad’s hands were stained to the wrist with the black ink of the Ferry Slip ledger, seventy-one of the entries smudged by the condensation that rose from the glasshouse’s floor, a moisture that should not have existed in the dead of a Ural winter, and he was trying to press the nib of his pen against the page to record the decay of the Nymphaea roots when the ink refused...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews