The Golden Marmot
Act I: The Descent The moor wind carried the smell of wet peat and old rain across the Yorkshire hills. Arthur Hawthorne stood at the edge of Hawthorne's Deep and watched his father's white hair whip in the gale. The old man's eyes were cloudy, his mouth slack with whatever madness had taken him these past months. He looked like a man who had forgotten his own name. Behind Arthur, nine pairs of...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu