One January Morning, Part 17
In the sewer, knee-deep in the muck and the mire, he asked her why she couldn’t trust him. But she said nothing. She simply nodded in the direction he was leading her and hoped that they would continue on in silence. He was a talkative one, though, and it wasn’t long before he took his query further. They’d reached a bend in the pipe and he stopped. The water and filth that streamed past her was growing cold, all of a sudden, and she wanted nothing more than to keep going and to get out of there as fast as she could. But, no. No, he had something else to say.
“Is it about the M word?” he said. “Morgan, I mean.”
To be continued…