As it was, he could barely make out the shapes of chairs and tables and lamps, dim rectangles on the walls he knew were pictures, and farther back, a stairway and a little glow here and there escaping around the edges of doors that were closed but no longer fit their frames. Ahead, his comrades were passing into the relative brightness of the kitchen, and Arrowroot followed them and found them standing in a circle, staring down at something on the floor. As unpleasant as it all was, Arrowroot was growing accustomed to the ritual. He drew in his breath and prepared to look death in the face again, hoping desperately there would be no recognition. “Anyone you know, Arrow?” Stapleton asked, and the others parted for him. Arrowroot stepped over, looked down and, despite his best intentions and all the humanity in his heart, he laughed. “It’s not Robert,” he said. “Nor anyone else I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. But I can tell you that his death seems to have been an annoyance.”
What do You think about The Bones Of Old Carlisle?
