by M C Beaton
He was in a filthy mood by the time he returned to the police station. Snow was beginning to fall heavily. In the kitchen, the wood-burning stove once more stood in the corner. He felt petty and mean at having sent back the stove to Priscilla. He wanted to phone her and apologize but could not bear the thought of hearing her voice.
He piled up the stove with logs. The stove drew even better than it had ever done before. He fed Towser and made dinner for himself.
What had he left in life? he thought. Demoted back to constable, no more Priscilla, back to his old life. The wind howled outside and snow whispered against the window-panes. The stove roared and glowed red, steak sizzled in the pan, and suddenly the police station seemed a refuge against a naughty world outside.
“Yes, I’m ‘back to where I was,” said Hamish to Towser. He turned the steak in the pan and began to whistle.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 044cc059-b105-4e00-ac88-d6805c61f037
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 16.12.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.9, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
M.C. Beaton
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