By BrianHamilton


I wandered the back alleys of dreaded Tarnmouth, weary, footsore, disheveled and thirsty. At length I wandered into a suburb of the town and, despite my straitened circumstances, I felt my heart and spirits lift as the nexus of abhorrence that was the Tarnmouth town centre and harbor area fell behind me. I stumbled across another boarding house, a chimney stack released mellow smoke into the evening sky and I felt drawn to this building by an unknown force. I made vain efforts to make myself more presentable and, finding some money in pocket, decided to try my luck. I needed another two or, at most, three nights in Tarnmouth, in order to finish my business here. The thought of a warm hearth and clean bed, along with the prospect of wholesome food and a friendly landlady was most welcome. With not a little hope in my heart, I ascended the steps and knocked on the heavy front door.

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