The Faded Road
The Faded Road The sound came first—soft, intermittent, like fingers tapping a glass bottle against the rim of a washbasin. Arthur Pendelton paused with his tea cup halfway to his mouth. He had known that sound since childhood, though he had not recognised it for what it was. Not until this morning, standing at his kitchen window in the grey light of a November so ordinary it might have been...
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