The Pale Dance
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it was not the kind of rain that soaks the earth but the kind that sits upon the surface, a cold and metallic film that makes the world look as though it has been washed in lead, and Margaret stood at the edge of the cliff where the moor dropped away into the grey nothingness of the sea, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps that tasted of salt...
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