CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTA Hidden Message
Sorrel turned the object over in his fingers and I watched as his face collapsed into a screwed up expression of sadness. “It’s his,” he maintained. “I recognise this dent in the case. It reflected the light in a particular way.”
Confusion knitted my brow into a firm line. The dent appeared little more than a thumb depression from constant use over time. A flicker of doubt sent unease into my mind. I suspected Sorrel wished it to be Limah’s, keeping the Counselor’s memory alive though a shiny but useless bauble. The lumpy mattress had troubled me forever, long before I decided to investigate. Limah’s dignity strode into my inner vision and his stoic faithfulness condemned my selfish nature. Gone. A flicker of abandonment threatened to eclipse my judge
