The Silver Sty
Page 24
by Sara Seale
She took the flowers from him and sniffed them lovingly. “Why? Is it funny?” she asked.
“No,” said James, his eyes gentle, “only typical.”
They went down the wide staircase together, and at the bottom, Sarah paused, and stuck her bunch of primroses into Sir Halibut’s helm.
“That’s for remembrance,” she said, and shook him by his mailed glove.