“Last evening emotionally draining, a migraine had threatened all morning, then hit hard mid-afternoon. At the moment it was taking precedence over his aching foot. He was supposed to keep the foot up, stay off it; he’d spent most of the day on it. Immobility led to thinking, the one thing that stopped his thinking was a book, but his aching head refused him this escape. No more painkillers left in his packet. He’d swallowed too many in the last few days. No post holes to dig by torchlight, no s...even-kilometre hikes through the forest. No peace at the mud brick house, so at seven-thirty he picked up his crutches and limped across Ben’s bridge to the old house. It offered him silence and solitude in which to nurse his headache. Much of the furniture had been left behind when Ellie had moved in with Ben six years ago. The battered old table was still in the kitchen with the old sideboard and the worn-out chairs, but the lounge room was empty, its unworn suite now cluttering Ben’s tiny lounge room.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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