The Distant Ghost
Act I Elvira Aiello’s hands were deep in the silt of the canal bed, hauling the heavy, mud-caked rice sacks up onto the dock as the tide pushed against the pilings. She worked in silence, her muscles burning under the grey light, while the dovecote on the mill roof cooed a dull, continuous note that seemed to vibrate in her own teeth. The air smelled of wet clay and rotting grain, a physical...
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