Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

said, looking up with a soft expression. “Come sit for a moment.”

I stayed near the doorway, my gloved hands now bare and hidden in my apron pockets. “I have work to finish in the office, Robert.”

“Donald tells me you are staying up late looking at old files,” he said, turning a page on his pad. “That is exactly what Dr. Sullivan warned us about.”

“Clara continue reading …