The Wistful Crossroads
Did you think the glass would hold? I. The rain had been falling sideways for a week, turning the narrow streets of Naples into a slurry of mud and rot. It was not a mood; it was a physical fact, a weight that pressed against the walls of the tithe barn where the owed grain sat in damp sacks. I remember the smell of it, the wet wool and the sour grain, and the sound of the mill wheel outside,...
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