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Eine Leiche wirbelt Staub auf (Flavia de Luce, #7) by
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Hannah Sorenson
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^”Banished!” they howled. “Banished!”
There is no sadder word in the English language. The very sound of it—like echoing iron gates crashing closed behind you; like steel bolts being shot shut—makes your hair stand up on end, doesn’t it?^
— Jan 05, 2026 07:22PM
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There is no sadder word in the English language. The very sound of it—like echoing iron gates crashing closed behind you; like steel bolts being shot shut—makes your hair stand up on end, doesn’t it?^
Hannah Sorenson
is starting
^Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline (IV.ii)^
— Jan 05, 2026 12:57PM
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Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline (IV.ii)^
















