Eleanor Voss did not die on the night of the collapse. She died slowly, over seventy-three days, and then not at all, but something in her went deeper than grave.
The rain fell on the Welsh hills like a curtain of needles. It had been falling for two days when the old tin mine near Llanfair gave way with a sound like the earth swallowing itself. Eleanor was eight hundred feet down when the roof came in, sealing the main tunnel behind her with a tonne of rock and shale and centuries of accumulated dirt. She struck her last match at eleven o'clock. The...
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