The causeway was flooding again. Edmund Ashworth stood at the edge of the submerged stones and watched the peat water swallow the last visible step, his breath forming thin ghosts in the Yorkshire fog. Beyond the water, the asylum rose from the moors like a dark tooth — Victorian brick, slate roof, narrow windows that caught what little light there was and held it.
Dr. Pemberton walked up beside him, umbrella tilted against the fine drizzle that had been falling since dawn.
"The
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