The Wistful Silence
The iron collar snapped against the stone floor with a sound like a bone breaking, and the dust that had settled in the high, vaulted arches of the cathedral drifted down in a slow, gray cloud, hanging in the air like the breath of ghosts. Thomas Bradshaw did not look up. He knew the weight of the gaze that was now resting on him, the heavy, suffocating pressure of the court that had once...
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