The Golden Circuit
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a fine, persistent mist that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and seeped into the bone of his left knee. He stood alone at the edge of the moor, the boundary line of the estate blurred by the grey distance. Behind him, the stone house waited, silent and hollow. His wife, Clara, was inside. She did not come out. She had not come out in...
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