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Fenoglio

You don’t know about me, without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but that ain’t no matter That book was made by Mr Mark Twain, and he told the truth, s which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth

Mark Twain,

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Dustfinger and Farid aiting for them in the car park when they left the hotel Over the nearby hills, a as slowly driving rain-clouds towards the sea Everything seeht colour-washed walls and the flowering shrubs in the streets Mo took the coastal road, which Elinor had said was built by the Roh the drive the sea lay to their left, its water stretching to the horizon, so it didn’t look half as inviting as it had on the day when Meggie had corey of the sky cast a dull reflection on the blue waves, and the sea-spray foaaze wandering to the hills on her right Capricorn’s village was hidden soht she saw its pale church tower in a dark fold of the hills, and her heart beat faster, although she knew that it couldn’t possibly be Capricorn’s church Her feet re that endless journey down thefaster than usual, much faster He could obviously hardly wait to reach their destination After a good hour they turned off the coast road and followed a narroinding lane through a valley grey with buildings Glasshouses covered the hills here, their panes painted white for protection against the sun that was now hidden behind clouds Only when the road went uphill did the country on both sides turn green again The buildings gave way to natural meadowland, and stunted olive trees lined the road, which forked unexpectedly a couple of tiht, but finally the right nan

They drove into a se, little more than a square, a few dozen houses, and a church that looked very ot out of the car she saw the sea far below The waves were so rough on this overcast day that, even from this distance, she could see the breakers Mo had parked in the village square beside the memorial for the dead of torld wars The list of naht there were ale had houses

‘You can leave the car unlocked I’ll keep an eye on it,’ said Dustfinger, as Mo was about to lock up He threw his rucksack over his shoulder, put the sleepy Gwin on his chain, and sat on the steps in front of the war ie looked uneasily at them both as she followed Mo

‘Reer called after theht!’ replied Mo

Farid was playing with ht him at it when she looked round onceer took the box of matches away from higie had met many people who loved books, sold them, collected them, printed the apart, but she had never before es She didn’t even know the names of the authors of some of her favourite stories, let alone what they looked like She had seen only the characters who eed from the words to meet her, never the writer who had ht of writers as dead or very, very old But thethe bell twice, was neither That is, he was certainly quite old, at least in Meggie’s eyes: in his mid-sixties or even older His face rinkled like a turtle’s, but his hair was black, without a trace of grey (she was to find out later that he dyed it), and he didn’t look at all fragile On the contrary: he planted hiie was instantly tongue-tied Luckily Mo was not

‘Signor Fenoglio?’ he asked