Explore "The 13th Immortal" by Robert Silverberg on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I'll be back later," Kesley said in the morning. His eyes stung as if they had been sandpapered during the long, sleepless night; his lips were dry and cracking, and the oppressive city heat hung around him like the caress of a giant velvet glove, smothering without actually touching.
"Where are you going? " Santana asked, not looking up. It was a mechanical question asked out of mere courtesy, and Kesley ignored it.