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190 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1973
Barbara thought of Sentinel Hill. They’d driven past at dusk on their way to the pub: the sloughed stone faces mobile with shadow; a few cars, uniformly grey, from which their passengers had climbed to count the stones and count again and descend baffled; a child at the centre of the circle prancing awkwardly and, as she’d slowed to let Doug watch, turning to her a cardboard demon’s face.
The man behind the counter of the curiosity shop wore a cloth cap; when he bent his head Terry Aldrich felt he was being served by a toad. The man’s hands were brown and crinkled as the paper in which he wrapped the parcels. The paper flapped: dust billowed round the shop, passing like incense across the window through which the summer sun was dulled as by sunglasses, changing form and leaving particles on clasped leather-bound books, carved vases, ornamental knives, a naked wooden boy frozen in the act of crying praises to the sun or possibly of beating off an attack from above. The hands set the parcel before Terry; he thought that the dim eyes gleamed in derision. Briefly his hand was clasped by fingers drier than the notes he paid.