Coins fell on his face. Dreaming of Tom’s kisses, he twitched. Let me sleep.
Kit lay on his back, on a straw tick and wooden pallet, upturned palms framing his head. Coarse brown hair, threaded with grey like his beard, straggled past his shoulders from beneath a snug woollen cap, and the blue circles under his eyes reached his cheekbones. He wore clothes for winter, the fabric fraying and holed: decrepit hose and slop breeches, and, beneath a leather jerkin, three layered shirts...