The black Flemings

· 1966

Once through the dark old iron gates, he seemed to have left the warm and friendly autumn day, the warm and friendly world, behind him. David Fleming laughed half aloud at the fancy and stepped back into the rambling country road, where wheel tracks were so quickly obliterated in the loose-drifting sand, to contrast once more, for his own amusement, the peaceful dreaming landscape in the afternoon sunlight and the sinister shadows of Wastewater.…

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