“—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 32 Kit lay on his back against the emerald coverlet, lamplight snarled in his light brown hair, and idly turned the swan-white quill between his fingers while Will watched from the chair by the window. The ornately carved back was winning the war against Will’s spine; Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “These lamps are very fine. They burn paraffin?” “Spirits of some sort,” Kit said. “ ’Tis a lovely bright light, isn’t it?” “I might sit up a littl...e,” Will said, feeling dishonest. “If the light will bother you, I can retreat to the library.” “No need,” Kit said, kicking his legs high to swing himself out of the bed. He dropped the pen onto a shelf as he stood, his fingers returning to stroke the stainless plume briefly before he turned away. “What a little mystery this is, isn’t it?” “What will you do with it?” Kit shrugged, his eyebrows arching in cheerful mockery. “ ’Tis too lovely to strip and stain with ink.MoreLessRead More Read Less
User Reviews: