The Wistful Skyline
Act I The road to A Coruña did not stop sounding, a low, grinding hum that vibrated in the teeth of anyone who walked it, a sound born from the friction of wheels on stone and the endless, dry thirst of the soil. It was a sound that Jose Cortes, a rag-and-bone collector whose license had been revoked three weeks prior, heard clearly as he stood at the threshold of his shop, number forty-seven...
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