A Plunder by Pilgrims Page 8
This was what he was thinking when he parked his van and walked across the gravel to his front door. The air was cold and wet. The porch light was dark, but there was enough light from street lamp on the corner that he saw them right away—pieces of gravel arranged on the smooth gray concrete in front of his door.
His pulse quickened. Up close, he finally saw that the little stones had been arranged into letters, and the letters into words:
THER AR OTHR GRLS
~continued~
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The Gray and Guilty Sea,
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