The Distant Affair
I The salt marshes of the bayou turned silver at dusk, a vast, indifferent expanse where the water lapped against the pilings of the missionary district with a sound like dry bones rattling in a tin can. It was a place where the air hung heavy with the scent of rotting cypress and the faint, metallic tang of the September frost that had settled without warning, biting into the joints of anyone...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima