There was a woman inside the door who took her coat before she had decided to give it up, and a smell of the house that was old wood and salt and something sweet burning somewhere. Her shoes were loud on the boards, the way they are in a house with rules.
He was in a room at the back that gave on to the water, standing at the window with his back to her, and he turned around slowly, the way a man does when he has learned in the last seventy-two hours what it costs to turn around fast.
One quick thing
Before you start reading
We keep an anonymous record of which chapters people finish, so we know which books to write more of. It is never sold and never linked to your name.
Choose either. The whole site is yours either way.