“Mags tried not to look, tried not to think about them. But he thought he could see them anyway. He knew who they belonged to, too, but he tried not to think of the name. Jak. I was Jak. He could almost, but not quite, hear the name being whispered. He chipped away at the rock in a cold sweat. He knelt in the shaft just as he always did, rock just a few finger lengths from his nose, his knees fitted into smooth hollows that he himself had painstakingly cut out. After all, the Cole bo...ys were only listening for the sounds of rock being cut, and a little work in making smooth places for your legs to fit now meant a lot less pain later. His lamp, strapped to his forehead, cast a dim light on the rock face in front of him. One little flame, in that lamp, fed by oil, with a metal reflector behind it. You didn’t want the flame to burn too high, it’d burn the skin of your forehead. You turned it as low as you dared. Except that meant shadows, and in the shadows, were the hints, the glints, of a pair of eyes.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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