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CHAPTER FIFTY

THE CLAWS

“You must be freezing,” Miss Claw said placing a cup of tea on the table, still with one hand on the bloody clothe, she has been wiping her nose with.

She pulled a chair opposite me taking a seat on it.  “I should go,” pulling my crutches from behind the table.

Her bony hand held my hand. “Please, drink your tea it’s the least I could do for you, after all you were willing to risk your life for me,”

I bit my lower lip in war with my inner self.

“Please,”

I loosen my grip on the crutches, after all I arguing wasn’t my strongest point.

“Here’s milk,” pushing power milk toward me.

“It’s fine black,” I lied.

A short laughter escaped her broken lips. I rose an eyebrow, lost. What was funny? Had I said something funny, or wait did I look funny? What? Was it my clothes?

All these thoughts starte

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