Real, not metaphorical, spiders were on my neck. I swatted at them frantically. Roger casually brushed them to the ground. “No problem. They’re harmless daddy-long-legs.” No problem if you don’t have arachnophobia, which I don’t of course. But the disgusting eight-legged monsters do give me the heebie-jeebies. He struck a standing version of Rodin’s The Thinker pose. “I probably can free the mummy enough to examine it, at least partially. It’s about twenty-five feet down, wedged in a curious airless pocket. I’m certain it will be destroyed in minutes if exposed to this humidity.” “How about calling your archaeology buddies?” “They can’t help. I don’t have a permit for this dig. They could get in big trouble. Plus, a few members of the Society would love to crucify me if they found out what I’m doing. I don’t like working without a permit, but I must.
What do You think about Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies?
