The Rose Gardens pittered with rain and the sun shone shyly through the banks. Two men with canes, hunch backed, crouched over a game of rummy. Children holding hands of mothers jumped gleefully across the red brick and through the back gate of the treelined exit. The cries were miles away.
Monserrot was on my mind and the sun felt warm on my cheek.
Monserrot was on my mind and the sun felt warm on my cheek.
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