Grosvenor Square Tales - Post a comment

Naturally, if I were in my own mind, I would have never gone through that backyard. It went for a mile - dead as a mine. Deserted. Like a drift. A yellow stone gut. Cut and forgotten. Lined by the mighty backs of the houses. Of unknown centuries. Of any era. The walls were a meter thick. The roofing had sagged. The narrow doors of the kitchen-entrances were nailed shut with planks. The plastering gone, the blooded ancient bricks glared gloomily.