Grange carried him out of the main door of the house onto the terrace. The dreaded chair was waiting for him. When Grange went to sit him in it, he held on to his shoulders tighter.
“No. I want to sit on the grass.” He was sick of the chair. Spent his life in the bloody chair.
Grange looked at him. Their faces were close and Milo could see the faintest shadow of whiskers on his cheek, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and feel the whisper of the man’s breath. “Would you like to go down to the lake?” he asked.
Milo nodded as he clung. It wasn’t too much of a walk, and the man seemed inordinately strong. Milo knew he wasn’t much of a weight, but he wasn’t exactly a feather either.
“Hold tight,” Grange said as he dipped to grab the blanket from the seat of the chair and then he ste
