A Promise Given to God
The night before James Calloway left for Calcutta, he and Margaret Sinclair walked to the headland at Cauldhead and stood where the Atlantic came in cold off the Minch. It was October, and the wind had teeth, and the sky was the particular grey of Calvinist conscience — not dark, exactly, but lightless. Margaret wore her mother's shawl. James had his collar turned up and his hands deep in his...
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