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the well

The lad, trussed beneath the armpits, was readied first. In a moment, his bulk was a spot on the light. The long wait was passed in clearing the ropes and examining the father. The dead torches stank among the broken cords. They must have burned too much of the air, incapacitated the men with hungry licking up their oxygen, and given them altitude sickness in a hole in the ground.

 


Maurizio Cosua | Il Pozzo