Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. . Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. I understand. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds.
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