The Distant Echo

Prologue November 2003; St. Andrews, Scotland He always liked the cemetery at dawn. Not because daybreak offered any promise of a fresh beginning, but because it was too early for there to be anyone else around. Even in the dead of winter, when the pale light was so late in coming, he could guarantee solitude. No prying eyes to wonder who he was and why he was there, head bowed before that one particular grave. No nosy parkers to question his right to be there. It had been a long and troublesome journey to reach this destination. But he was.

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