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Sara is on page 145 of 325

"And late on a moonless night, when the lamplit windows of houses winked across the fields, and the whistle of the striding locomotive drifted back from some nameless crossing, Artemus thought of himself and his comrades as the last tragic heroes, traveling forever into the darkness, forever apart, with nothing for their passage but a hint of coal smoke borne away by the wind..."

— Dec 10, 2016 07:10PM

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Sara is on page 87 of 325

What a master of descriptive prose!
"As the storm diminishes, he watches from an archway that drips rain like a beaded curtain, flanked by the heavy, lashing fronds of banana trees. The courtyard is filled with the sound of water. Gray-green light suffuses from the stippled pool in the center where bright fish live."

I can feel, smell and see the rain. If I stick out my tongue, I might even taste it.

— Dec 10, 2016 07:01PM