The Serpent in the Parsonage
The snake was in the churchyard on a Thursday. Father Thomas Whitfield saw it from the study window, coiled beneath the yew tree that marked the grave of his wife, Margaret, who had been dead eleven years and who still occupied more space in his mind than any living person he knew. The snake was small, no longer than his arm, and it was being pelted with stones by children from the village. Not...
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