140x210 236 страниц. 2015 год. Sceptre I've stopped, because the far end of the garden, the wall with the small black door -it's gone all faint and dim. Not because of evening. It can't even be four o'clock yet. Not because it's misty, either. I look up -the sky's still bluish, like it was before. It's the garden itself. The garden's fading away.'