The Pale Garden
Act I The grain owed to the temple granary was a debt that breathed, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction in the belly of the tithe barn that matched the pulse of the men who counted it. Bernardino Jorge, forty-two years old and bent under the weight of his ledger, knew the weight of every sack of wheat and every strip of cork bark that lined the walls of the Alentejo valley, a landscape...
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