The black casket, it did not belong to me. But I had as good right to it as the man I took it from… and now someone was trying to steal it…
I heard a noise at the door and sat quietly. I recognized it as the faint sound of sensitive fingers trying a skeleton key.
The room was dark and it was one of the so-called wee sma’ hours when even those with uneasy consciences are supposed to be asleep and when, as if to establish a compensating ratio, even the faintest of noises, the little creaks and rustles that are scarcely audible in daylight, are as noticeable to a listener as the clatter of bronze.
Publication date: 11/10/2014
The black casket, it did not belong to me. But I had as good right to it as the
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