I can’t smoke my pipe without tabak, but I chew the stem and trick my belly so it thinks I’ve eaten.
Goody Osborne leans against the wall, the elderly woman’s face collapsed in exhaustion. The Indian woman still sits in the dark corner. Her breath rasps when she inhales, as if she can’t fill her lungs.
I glance at the small window near the rafters. The light is shifting, growing brighter. We have been locked in here for hours.
Finally, the door opens, and four men step inside. One walks up to me.
“Remember me?” Constable Locker asks. “Magistrates are ready for ye now. Stand up. Constable Herrick and I will take ye across.”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.