The Foundling's Silence

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2026-05-28 11:40:53 -

I. The snow fell on Christmas Eve, thick and unrelenting, covering Yorkshire in a shroud of white. At the hour of vespers, the church door at St. Mary's in Haworth groaned on frozen hinges, and the curate, bringing in the evening candle, found him: a babe wrapped in a woolen blanket that smelled of woodsmoke and old milk, sitting in a wicker basket as though it had been placed there by hands...

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