Without, the night is cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Cumberland Furnace, Tennessee the blinds are drawn and the fire burns brightly. The master of the house is at DVD, half-heartedly purveying "The History Boys" while pondering radical changes and unnecessary perils. "Hark at the wind", he says to no one in particular. The gale now carries a sound of impending doom for in it's wail he hears the howl of his recently deceased hound.
He wasn't... (continue reading)
