Dusk

I spend half the afternoon composing questions I want to ask, only to unspool them again when I picture his answering silence.

By the time he returns, Dusk is pressing up against the glass.

He's carrying groceries, eggs, bread, the good olive oil, and it is, at first, a stunning display of normal domestic choreography.

I almost wish he would shout, break something, make this ugliness undeniable.

Meryl also has dark blue robes, just like that priestess.

And the Tog Priestess had an eight-pointed star, like the Dusk Court, a.k.a.

Twilight.

And Meryl has twilight eyes.

You flip to the next page.

and nesta's still trying to get the fucking book for gwen so she doesn't get in trouble and she says it had to be now one eye on the priestess nesta moved she coughed to cover the whisper of books moving and by the time meryl whipped her head around again nesta made sure she wasn't so much as looking toward the shelf where volume seven of the great war stood in place of volume eight which now sat atop the other books in nesta's arms meryl hissed what are you lingering for get out so she harps on this three times in one chapter because it's the freaking book that Aelin wrote about the Valkor yep yep and then of course later when Meryl confronts her she's like I know you fucking switched out the books like I knew what book was on the fucking cart you bitch um So, okay.

And then there's like a chapter break and she finds Gwen and it says, I have been saying Gwen is connected to Dusk so much because remember, Gwen is like, oh, the Dusk services.

I like, I prefer the Dusk services.

A handful of small cottages, a pile of conch shells on the beach, and two fishing smacks gave evidence of a remaining, though sparse, population.

Dusk was rapidly approaching, and Carol strained her eyes against the falling light.

Bill heard her call his name and saw her pointing, not ahead to their anchorage, but amidships and towards the sky.

He turned his eyes to where she was indicating and saw a dullish object in the sky some thousand feet up.

"'Let's come and dig him out of that cavern of his,' she said, and linking her right arm and that of Wales and her left with mine, she turned us about toward the house.

Dusk was now fallen, and lights shone out from several windows of low fennel.

Suddenly an upper window became illuminated, and Mrs. Dale pointed to this.

that is my room she said to me isn't it delightfully situated the view from the window is glorious i consider low finnell charming in every way i replied clearly she knew nothing of the place's sinister reputation which seemed to indicate that she employed herself little with the domestic side of the household otherwise she must undoubtedly have learnt of the episode of the man with the contorted face if not from the housekeeper from the maid It was a tribute to the reticence of the servants that the story had spread no further.

As the tent flap was dropped, she sank down beside the camp bedstead, and her head fell upon the covering.

2.

Dusk fell, a quick curtain, and the lamps of night shone out with glorious brilliancy, illuminating the little plateau.

The tents gleamed whitely in the cold radiance.

You shall be left in peace with your chess for being so brilliant." I had occasion half an hour later to go to the post office 100 yards up the high street on the matter of a registered letter which I wanted to dispatch that evening.

Dusk was gathering, but the red glow of sunset still smoldered in the west, sufficient to enable me to recognize familiar forms and features of passersby.

Just as I came opposite the post office, there approached from the other direction a tall, finely built woman whom I felt sure I had never seen before.

Her destination was the same as mine, and I hung on my step a moment to let her pass in first.

You're 95BFM and this is Morning Glory.

This track is At Dusk, featuring Mary Latimore by Rory Montgomery and Martha Skye Murphy.

And before this track, you're listening to F.O.S.T. by Gorillaz.

5395, what are you up to on this Monday morning? so so So, Thank you.

Someone had dusted off the surfaces recently, no prints, but the buildup of new grime was inconsistent with anyone simply hiding out for a night.

Mehera joined us near Dusk, swinging his radio with frustration.

Batteries almost drained, but I'm sure the surges aren't random.

Times match up with solar cycles and...

It so fell that one dark evening in the month of June I was belated in the Bernese Oberland.

Dusk overtook me toiling along the great Chamonix road in the heart of a most desolate gorge, whose towering snow-flung walls seemed, as the day sucked inwards to a point secret as a leech's mouth, to close about me like a monstrous amphitheatre of ghosts.

The rutted road, dipping and climbing toilfully against the shouldering of great tumbled boulders, or winning for itself but narrow foothold over slippery ridges, was thawed clear of snow, but the cold soft pearl yet lay upon its flanks thick enough for a wintry plunge of ten feet, or maybe fifty, where the edge of the causeway fell over the lower furrows of the ravine.

It was a matter of policy to go with caution, and a thing of some moment to hear the thud and splintering of little distant icefalls about one in the darkness.