Now, on the veranda, Matthew faced an unprecedented puzzle. He shook himself again, warding off an odd but familiar sensation, stronger now than he had ever known it to be. He breathed the uncharacteristically cold December air. The still freeze had already begun; icy air crept right through his jacket and up the hems of his trousers. Yet he hesitated, not lifting a hand to the knocker. Matthew stood before an open door.
I'm so grateful to my readers/editors; they help raise my writing to a much higher standard.
How's your writing going this week?