“Me?” I said. No one comes to see me. Not anymore.
“You are Mr. Pyrus,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Just Pyrus will do. My friends call me…” 482 more words
24th December 1932
There was not a sound to be heard, nor a creature abroad to hear it. The village lay still and cold in the moonlight, the long street a pale ribbon, the cottages on its either side no more than inky smudges, their windows set too deep to gleam. 1,176 more words