Alex Castro

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Hearing his (for once) unmodulated tones, I rushed in. Never before had I heard my husband express himself with such force, or realised what blind fury lay hibernating beneath his habitual calm. He did not confine himself to an analysis of what might reasonably wake a man in his own house. The argument assumed a wider philosophical scope. What was the point of living if such things were possible — if a godless garden gnome could take over his rug, next to half of a pair of cavalry boots with spurs shaped like eagle’s wings? In his rage he leaped from one topic to another. It was a dreadful ...more
The Door
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