Clara, who was shelling peas on her grandmother's stoop, looked up. "What do you want?"
Each time, Clara told herself: This is justice. Fire is truth.
Clara's hands did not shake. That was the horror. They were perfectly still.
Clara, who was shelling peas on her grandmother's stoop, looked up. "What do you want?"
Each time, Clara told herself: This is justice. Fire is truth.
Clara's hands did not shake. That was the horror. They were perfectly still.