ferryman
Justin Cronin
Orion (England); ballantine books (we)
prologue
It was dawning when she crept out of the house. The air is cool and fresh. Birds are singing in the trees. Everywhere, under velvety skies of diminishing stars, the sound of the world’s great metronome, the ocean, blares. Dressed in light sleepwear, she walks around the garden. Her pace is simply slow, without hesitation, which I like most. How ghostly this solitary figure floats among flowerbeds, babbling fountains, and hedges trimmed with blood-sharp wrinkles. There’s a house behind her
