Here’s a sample from The Bruges Tapestry.

I heard retreating footsteps but dared not look out. I waited a long time before I came out. I peered carefully around the underside of the bridge and saw nothing.

Then a large, rough hand grabbed my neck and lifted me until my toes dragged along the cobbles. I sputtered, but no breath came in or out. I could smell the onions and cabbage on his breath.

The strong hand squeezed hard on my neck as I was thrown into the stinking canal—the cold, dark waters soaking my heavy skirts, taking me down the frigid path to death.

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