The Pale Tale
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, grey silt that coated the cobblestones of the old quarter in a film of mud, blurring the distinction between the wet pavement and the stone walls of the narrow houses where the lamps had not yet been lit. In the window of the third-floor room, a silhouette moved with the deliberate, practiced grace of a woman who had long ago ceased to ask...
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