Roman always says something.īut at that particular moment, there’s nothing. He looks at Roman as if Roman is meant to say something. Straight-backed, staring back at Roman, at the wine still not sunken into the bottom of his glass. He knows before he opens his eyes, and when he does look, there he is. There’s a heavy-bottomed glass in his hand, and it’s filled with the last dregs of a bottle of wine he’d stolen from the cellar.Īnd at one point, his father is in the kitchen with him. Something aches in him, and he can’t tell if it’s physical or psychosomatic, or both. He’s on the floor of one of the house’s butler kitchens.
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