
Strings by Sheryle Criswell Sturdevant
[wp_social_ninja id=”215974″ platform=”reviews”] CHAPTER I Sometimes I think about the mornings, gray and wet, and so cold that my breath looked like steam from a pot of hot tea…except there was no hot…
[wp_social_ninja id=”215974″ platform=”reviews”] CHAPTER I Sometimes I think about the mornings, gray and wet, and so cold that my breath looked like steam from a pot of hot tea…except there was no hot…