The Wistful Voyage
The harbor town of St. Mawes had not changed in seventeen years. The same ochre cliffs held the same stubborn posture against the Celtic Atlantic, the same narrow streets coiled down to the estuary where the Glendurgan meets the sea, and the same small harbour cradled fishing boats and pleasure craft with equal indifference to the human dramas they witnessed. Clara Mercer returned on a Tuesday...
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