Sweat pours off my brow, my already weak legs growing heavier until they give out, sending me sprawling into the dirt. Scrambling through the leaves, I heave myself up in time to meet her scream. It floods the forest, sharp with fear, and is cut silent by a gunshot. — : file:///mnt/onboard/Turton, Stuart/7 1_2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, The - Stuart Turton.epub#(4)text/part0007.html
It’s like I’ve been asked to dig a hole with a shovel made of sparrows. — : file:///mnt/onboard/Turton, Stuart/7 1_2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, The - Stuart Turton.epub#(30)text/part0033.html