More from B. Ashford
Here's a scene that didn't make it into the novel.
The Weight of Her Hands
Milan, autumn 1943. Three weeks after the armistice, Lucia is standing in a queue she has no business standing in, carrying a tin of oil that isn't oil's worth of trouble, and the woman ahead of her — scarred hands, an old limp — already knows exactly who she is.
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I'm not done with this family, or with the century they lived through. I don't have a publication date for the next book and I won't invent one. But the people on this list will hear about it before anyone else does.