Jojo Moyes

It was the moustache that reminded me I was no longer in England: a solid, grey millipede firmly obscuring the man’s upper lip; a Village People moustache, a cowboy moustache, the miniature head of a broom that meant business. You just didn’t get that kind of moustache at home. I couldn’t tear my eyes from it.

‘Ma’am?’

The only person I had ever seen with a moustache like that at home was Mr Naylor, our maths teacher, and he collected Digestive crumbs in his – we used to count them during algebra.

‘Ma’am?’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

جهت استعلام قیمت و سفارش چاپ این محصول لطفا با انتشارات گنج حضور تماس حاصل فرمایید