It was dawn, at last. The third class compartment smelled of weariness, cigarettes and soldiers’ boots. They were emerging from the night as if coming out of a long tunnel and yo
I go back up the stairs unhurriedly, with the cordless phone still in my hand, convinced that it will stop ringing before I get to the terrace and I won’t have to answer. And it
We know very little about the special school. At least, I don’t. Nona doesn’t really let on anything about what she does there, but I don’t think she likes it very much. When
