Just discovered through Twitter – new historical fiction – looking forward to seeing it in print !
When my father left this world I was just seventeen, and any exciting opportunities for my advancement that had existed up to that point evaporated like water sprayed on to the courtyard dust in our hot Toledan courtyard.
I was still an unmade youth, uncertain of much except a determination to avoid the one avenue that remained open, if unappealing. I had had enough of priests and their curious mixture of sanctimony and retribution. I would not willingly submit to becoming one myself, a position I quickly sensed was irritating the other occupants in the cool shady retiring room which looked out over the gardens beside the house. The intensity of their conversation – I was the subject, but not required as a participant – contrasted with the dreamy sounds and scents of summer that wafted through the wooden grill work.
My mother said least. Almost impossible to…
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