Rain was not a bad thing, of course, as his
brother had reminded him on more than one occasion. But his brother was a farmer, and he was
talking about proper rain: the sort that cascaded from the heavens to water the
earth and fill the aqueducts and wash the drains. British rain was rarely that simple. For days on end, instead of falling, it
simply hung around in the air like a wife waiting for you to notice she was
sulking.
(from Terra
Incognita, by Ruth Downie)
8*/10. The full review is here.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment