tell me again about the photograph, his boy said without speaking.
The nine-year-old looked up at him expectantly. Like a familiar fable, he expected the description to begin as it always had, and Carr would not disappoint him. The man lowered his pitch before beginning, then added a touch of Brit just for drama.
On a paneled wall far beneath the rolling English countryside, he intoned, hangs a tintype of five men. One sits ramrod straight in a low-backed chair, his hands clasped in his lap. He is flanked by the remaining four, their heads held high in the noose of nineteenth century collars.
A smile spread across the youths face. Their faces are solemn, right, dad?
The man ruffled his sons fawn-colored hair. But if you peer at them long enough?
The boy lowered his pitch in imitation of his fathers. Excitement begins to flicker in their eyes.' He paused the perfect length