“The clock beside my bed read 6:15. I couldn’t get back to sleep—and, believe me, I tried. So I swung up out of bed, showered and got dressed. The house was quiet. I hesitated to go into the kitchen in case I disturbed the old man. Instead, I let myself out of the house into the crisp morning air and took a stroll around the property. I walked back as far as the base of the waterfall and gazed up at the highlands where it originated. There was a rough path up one side of the falls. I started to ...climb it. The higher I went, the more spectacular the view became and the colder it got. The farmhouse, the little church and the outbuildings below got smaller and smaller, and once I was at the top, I spotted another farm to the east and Reykholt to the west. The terrain up top was desolate. In the distance, cresting the highest points, was a sheet of white—snow. Or ice. I wasn’t sure which. There wasn’t a tree anywhere. I don’t know why, but it popped into my mind that a fugitive would have a hard time in Iceland.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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