The village of Lirio sat cradled by fog-wet pines and a river that moved like a slow thought. Its stone church—whitewashed, bell tower crooked from weather—kept the center of the town. People said the bell rang by itself on certain nights, and children dared each other to creep to its iron gate and listen for the echoing chiming that smelled faintly of moss.
Would you like a summary of specific chapters from the book, or help finding peer-reviewed critiques of Allegro’s methodology?