Читать книгу House of Echoes - Barbara Erskine - Страница 6

A beam of cold sunshine finds its way through a knot hole in the wood of the shutters and strays across the dusty boards. Laser like, it creeps from right to left until it reaches the flower lying in its path. One by one, in the spotlight, the petals fall open, their thin creamy whiteness already edged with brown.

In the silence the skirt skimming over the boards makes no sound; the footsteps from the past are quiet.

With no ear there to hear them the echoes in the house are silent.