The Distant Metropolis
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a cold, relentless drumming against the thatched roof of the cottage that perched on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the churning grey waters of the North Sea. Margaret stood at the window, her fingers tracing the condensation on the glass, watching the mist swallow the village of Dunmore below. She was holding the sign. It was a large piece of...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima