We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
CHAPTER 10
78 CHAPTER 10 South Africa, 1902Blake wished he was dead. The pain and nausea hit him like a horse kick as he tried to sit. He rolled to one side and vomited. The walls were whitewashed stone. The floor of the cell, now stained, was made of cattle dung and water, a local building concoction which set like shiny concrete. Weak shafts of light penetrated the gloom from a tiny barred window set high up on the wall. His bed was a stone slab with a straw mattress. The room smelled of stale piss and, now, fresh vomit. He looked down at his feet. The laces from his boots were gone, as were his tunic, belt and braces – anything he could hang himself with, Blake thought. The steel door to the cell creaked open and a Scottish corporal, a guard, filled the doorway. ‘Wake up! You’ve got a visitor.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD
