Literature
Unholy Writ, Chapter Eighteen
They arrived back in Southampton at dusk. Emma stood on the prow of the ship, her eyes on the squat cylindrical tower of Southampton castle, looming high above the town on its great mound. Her mind was fluttering from topic to topic like a caged bird, unable to settle. In a strange and twisted way, the past – how long had it been, nine, ten days? – had been an escape from reality. Just a small group of people, cut off from the world on a small ship, united in a common purpose. Now she was returning to a real world, a real world that no longer contained her uncle, the linchpin of her existence for as long as she could remember.