When she was a girl, the deep, hollow grinding of stone on stone was a common sound, an everyday occurrence. Whether it was the handheld rechim grinding the meal for their daily bread or the large donkey-powered stone wheel at the edge of town that crushed the oil from the olives, it always elicited in her a feeling of family, of intimacy among women, of the abundance of the earth.
But this sound had been different. This time it shook the earth. This time it rattled her bones.
This time …
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See Chapter One …