• Ghosts of New England
    Act I Elizabeth Thorne was arrested on a Tuesday in October 1955, the kind of Tuesday that begins with fog and ends with rain. She was thirty years old, a schoolteacher at Gray Harbor's one-room academy, and she had married into the town's most prominent family without knowing that prominence in Gray Harbor was not a blessing but a burden. Her husband, Edward Thorne, was dead. He had been found...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 73 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 54 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 61 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 69 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 58 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 55 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 72 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 53 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 59 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 71 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 62 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Count of New England
    ACT I: THE SUMMONS The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in cream-colored paper that smelled faintly of myrrh. Lady Eleanor Ashworth broke the seal with fingers that trembled—not from cold, though the November wind howled through the mullioned windows of her Boston drawing-room, but from the memory it invoked. The handwriting was elegant, precise, the script of a man who had received the...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 53 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Distant Legend
    The Distant Legend By Thomas Blackwood The house on Harrow Lane had stood since before the war—or at least since before anyone living could remember. The brickwork was the colour of dried blood in winter light, the windows like blind eyes watching the street. Inside, it smelled of damp wool and old paper, of a man who had lived alone for too long among the ghosts of other people's lives....
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 97 Views 0 Vista previa
  • The Golden Suspect
    They came for her on the morning the river swallowed the lower fields. Margaret Holloway was twelve years old. She stood at the kitchen window of her grandmother's house in Elmsworth, watching the floodwater creep across the garden with a patience that frightened her more than the wind. The rain had been falling for three days. The whole of the valley had turned the colour of weak tea. And...
    0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 105 Views 0 Vista previa
Resultados de la búsqueda