The Pale Banner
The iron gates of the Asylum for the Morally Defective, which stood at the edge of the soot-choked valley like a mausoleum of broken minds, did not open for visitors, but they swung wide with a groan that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief when the boy, Thomas, walked through with a bundle of grey rags in his hands, the rags stained with a dark, viscous mud that smelled of old rain and...
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