More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The assault doesn’t end when the attack ends. It stays with you, hiding behind every door you open, every corner you turn, even haunting your dreams.
From one glance, I can see this is a place of history. A place of tradition. A place of secrets.
The main building sits atop a slope, cold and defiant, as though daring the visitor to enter. The lawns and the building itself lack any decoration. No emblems. No signs welcoming visitors. No banners or logos. It’s monastic.
His skin is a waxy yellow and covered in perspiration, though he’s been sitting in a booth all day. Even outside, I can smell the tobacco on him, and when he smiles at me, his teeth show the effects as well. And that smile. There’s a hollowness to it.
Eww
