Chris Chapman’s Reviews > Martha Quest > Status Update
Chris Chapman
is on page 166 of 271
...the clubhouse itself was surrounded by a churned mass of red mud. It was the cloistral hour, the hour of silence, as if the very fact that in the trees, and in the veld that was no more than half a mile's walk distant, the little creatures and birds were sinking into sleep aroused, in these people, though briefly, the memory of that other cycle submerged in their blood.
— Jun 18, 2024 11:29PM
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Chris’s Previous Updates
Chris Chapman
is on page 93 of 271
Founders' Street was narrow and shabby; and, although it was named to commemorate those adventurers, who had come riding over the veld to plant the Union Jack, regardless of the consequences to themselves or to anybody else, it was now synonymous in the minds of the present citizens with dubious boarding houses and third-rate shops.
— Jun 04, 2024 12:59AM
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Jun 18, 2024 11:32PM
The lights were not switched on; they sat in a flushed half-dark, and unconsciously their voices lowered, though they were teasing each other about the mud on their clothes, and because some were reluctant to cross the mud to the cars so that they might go and dress.
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