Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

It was like a nightmare. Like some unreal dream that you wake up from the next morning.
Only this nightmare was happening. Ahead of me I could see Rankin’s flashlight; a large
yellow eye in the sultry summer darkness. I tripped over a gravestone and almost went
sprawling. Rankin whirled on me with a hissed oath.
"Do you want to wake up the caretaker, you fool?"
I muttered a reply and we crept forward. Finally, Rankin stopped and shone the flashlight’s
beam on a freshly chiseled gravestone. On it, it read:
DANILE WHEATHERBY
1899 – 19622
He has joined his beloved wife in a better land.