Earthy, red-fruited and a little reticent, it gives up its secrets slowly, much like Grace herself. Its cool, damp-cellar edge suits the book's guarded interiors.
A Canadian bottle for a Canadian story, with steely acidity and a faint petrol note that cuts through the novel's hush. Pale, precise and quietly unnerving.
A murder confession told in slippery, stitched-together fragments, where every version of Grace Marks is both plausible and unsettling. Quiet menace under Victorian propriety.
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