To one kneeling down no word came
Only the wind’s song, saddening the lips
Only the grave saints, rigid in glass;
Or the dry whisper of unseen wings
Bats not angels, in the high roof…
Leaving Tavistock behind, we headed out for our rendezvous with Alethea and Larissa. There were hawks in the sky and a woodpecker on a fence post as we travelled the green wormhole through the trees. We arrived at our destination forty minutes early and parked the car near the village pond. We had already found both our next stop and somewhere to park while we visited… not by any feat of navigation, but simply by driving past. We had, therefore, nothing to do. But we had parked next to the village church, after all… it would have been rude not to try the door… which obligingly swung open.
Christ Church in North Brentor is not the most attractive of buildings. It is quite obviously modern, being a Victorian creation. There had been a chapel of ease on the site prior to the new church, but that had long-since disappeared when…
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