Fatal Memories -- Chapter Ten

The church was packed. As in all Russian churches, there were no benches, and everyone was standing, except a few ancient women perched on rickety wooden chairs in the back of the nave. The walls, covered with gold framed icons, reflected rows upon rows of candles, like shimmering golden curtains extending from floor to ceiling. The windows cast multicolored shafts of light through the clouds of incense that hung in the air.