GalinaZaharova

I hung up the phone. “Do you think she will be back?” I asked slowly. But Finch didn’t answer. I turned and looked at him. He stood, stiff, staring off strangely into space – his eyes bulging, blank – his mouth open, gasping a little – he looked shell shocked. Everything I imagined he must have gone thought in the past 48 hours, was finally taking its toll – it seemed to be all falling on him at once now that he had let himself relax a little. I took a step closer to him, worried, and put my hand on his arm. “M-Mr. Reese, I, I’m not feeling very well,” he stammered, almost dazed. He

It was late in the evening, and I was beginning to get drowsy. The wind, cold and damp, ruffled my wings and made me shiver. I needed to find a warm place for the night, and the warm yellow glow of the old beekeepers cottage seemed very inviting compared to the blue coldness that was all around me. I fluttered down to the closest windowsill and looked in. I knew I was being nosey, but I didn’t suppose they would care. For “they” there were, for the elderly man in the tweed suit and white mustache was still there. I huddled close to the window trying to get any inkling of the heat from the fire that was within, but without su