The Golden Visit
Act I The rain on the slate roof of the cottage at ninety-six of Gallows Corner did not fall so much as it hammered, a relentless, metallic drumming that Iolo Nash felt in the hollows of his teeth. He stood in the doorway, his collar turned up against the damp, watching the mud slide down the path toward the quarry lake, which held a color so unnaturally blue it looked like a bruise on the...
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