The Glow in the Glass House
The greenhouses of Blackmore Hall did not belong in Yorkshire. That was the first thought Evelyn Ashworth had when she inherited them at twenty-five. Three glass structures, each the size of a small church, jutting from the edge of the moor like the ribs of some great creature picked clean by crows. The Yorkshire wind had shattered half their panes. The other half held together a million shards...
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