It was, probably, Lee Randon realized, the last time he would play golf that year. He concluded this standing on a shorn hill about which the country was spread in sere diminishing tones to the grey horizon. Below, a stream held a cold glimmer in a meadow of brown, frost-killed grass; and the wind, the bitter flaws where Lee stood, was thinly scattered with soft crystals of snow. He was alone, no one would play with him so late in the season, and there had been no boy present to carry his clubs
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A gagner : la BD jeunesse adaptée du classique de Mary Shelley !
Caraïbes, 1492. "Ce sont ceux qui ont posé le pied sur ces terres qui ont amené la barbarie, la torture, la cruauté, la destruction des lieux, la mort..."
Un véritable puzzle et un incroyable tour de force !
