CHAPTER THIRTY
Friday — April, 1817.
A miserable morning. No sign of the sun. Rain imminent.
Sitting in the basement with my . . . guests. Have reconfirmed all measurements of the two lads and sent a dispatch to Officer Hamilton. Included a sketch of their face—a face, among other things, that they share.
I feel sorrow for their demise. It presses against my chest and makes breathing difficult. I dare not take too deep a breath in case it leads to sobbing I cannot control.
My unspoken conversation with Officer Hamilton last night has left me
Officer Hamilton has
Leaning heavily against the wooden slab, my chin on my bandaged fist, I cannot help but closely study the upward arch of their n***d feet, only inches from my face. Their soles are youthful and unblemished, soft to the touch
