The Pale Verdict
The inspection began with a lie, as all inspections do, dressed in the language of compliance. "Your gait is irregular, Mr. Vane," the Overseer said, his voice a dry rattle in the humid air of the corridor. He stood behind the heavy iron desk, his silhouette framed by the pale, sickly light of the gas lamps. He did not look at my face. He looked at my hands. "I am merely adjusting to the...
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