The Iron Ledge
The Iron Ledge ACT I The bell above St. Mary's door had not rung at three in the morning since Edward Crosswell took over as curate, yet here he was standing in the pouring rain, collar soaked through, with a dead man's signet ring burning a hole in his coat pocket. He had heard the knock before it came. Three strikes—once, twice, then a pause that stretched like a held breath, then two...
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