
The galvanised roof ticks in the heat, pines break the salt-bush horizon, and Moya Bethune sits on the verandah as if it were a Melbourne balcony. I could marry you for this place alone; it is sweet after the city. You step into this one-chapter preview with Moya Bethune at the center, where choices turn on the people, promises, and pressure already in the room. The bush has offered its first lesson before I have finished unpacking my own. The chapter closes on a continuation question rather than resolving the novel's larger arc.
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