The book Without Words
“The fog settled like an icy shroud over the town, filling the mud-clogged streets and crooked lanes from Westgate to Bishopsgate, from Three Rats Quay upon the decaying river-banks to Saint Osyth’s Cathedral by the city center. It clung to the crumbling city walls. It heightened the stench of rotten hay and offal, of vinegary wine and rancid ale. It muffled the sound of pealing church bells calling the weary faithful to apprehensive prayers.
In a neglected corner of town, at the bottom of C...lutterbuck Lane, with its grimy courtyard and noxious well, against the town’s walls, stood a dilapidated two-story stone house. The first-level windows were blocked up with stone. A single second-floor window was curtained.
In a large room on the second floor stood a very old man by the name of Thorston. His dirty, high-cheek-boned face—with baggy eyes and long narrow nose-was deeply lined. His mouth was toothless. His eyes were green. Unkempt hair, hoary eyebrows, and wispy beard were as sparse as they were gray.MoreLess
In a neglected corner of town, at the bottom of C...lutterbuck Lane, with its grimy courtyard and noxious well, against the town’s walls, stood a dilapidated two-story stone house. The first-level windows were blocked up with stone. A single second-floor window was curtained.
In a large room on the second floor stood a very old man by the name of Thorston. His dirty, high-cheek-boned face—with baggy eyes and long narrow nose-was deeply lined. His mouth was toothless. His eyes were green. Unkempt hair, hoary eyebrows, and wispy beard were as sparse as they were gray.MoreLess
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