Easter
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In the autumn of 1973, the chalk cliffs of Kent loomed over the grey churn of the English Channel, their white faces streaked with flint and despair. Dover’s streets, damp with the salt-kissed mist, wound through a town battered by economic rot and the weight of a government that seemed to care more for Whitehall’s Read more
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The Hawthorn Tree Series The cottage crouched in the shadow of a gnarled forest, its walls sagging like a hag’s flesh, patched with moss and rot. Inside, the air was a sour stew of damp earth, burnt herbs, and something acrid that clawed at the throat. A cauldron squatted over a fire that spat green Read more
Dany Slone 