The Wistful Atlas
June Muncy had worked as a piano tuner for six years, and in that time she had never once been paid for a job that was not completed. The rain in the karst hills of rural New Zealand did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that pressed against the windows of the housing estate on the city’s edge, sealing the world in a damp, static silence. She stood in the queue for the ferry, her coat...
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