"Middles"
I certainly wouldn't have been able to swear to either of them.
The one man was a mere shadow, his bloodless lips and red-rimmed lids rendering him more wraith than rascal on the playground.
The other held a moss rose between his fingers and waxed philosophic.
I sat still in between the two, the tension palpable. My past lay to the right, my present to the left: A sheet of foolscap paper bearing Miss Annie Harrison's penmanship brought the two together.
Holmes studied the flower quietly. Phelps' ragged breathing washed over me, insistent that I do something. How utterly unthinkable.