"This rain," said winegrower Thierry Navarre, staring cheerfully out of his cellar windows at the forbidding clouds swirling around the mountain opposite, "couldn't have come at a better time." It was exactly two weeks before the spring equinox. The pruned vines were tense, crouched like cats, ready to leap into life as the sun returns for its next northern circuit. The river Orb roared under Roquebrun bridge, spinning and eddying through its gorge, swamping the riverbank trees and turning the old watermill into a tall stone island.
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