The Distant Wound

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2026-08-19 01:00:21 -

The Distant Wound

Henry Ashworth-Cross did not come to Cornwall looking for absolution. He came because the solicitor's letter mentioned a cottage, a garden overgrown with sea-thrift and thrift alone—Thrift, the small blue flower that Clive James once wrote about with such peculiar tenderness, as if the word itself were a wound held at a distance. Henry was fifty-two, a retired surveyor of tidal estuaries, and...

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