Saul would have liked to pray. He couldn’t even remember how it was done, but he knew, urgently, that there must be a way, and the thought brought a sudden vivid image to him: Randolph Glyde on Camlet Moat, wiping the handkerchief over his face like a sacred rite. The vibrant life of the great forest around him, the well water cool in his throat, the green and gold light through the leaves, as dappled as Glyde’s hazel eyes. He shut his own eyes in the darkness, willing the image into his mind, and told himself the wet cold on his face was the clear burn of the well water.
adam parrish so lives in this thought
