The Wistful Voyage
"You are wrong," I said. The candle flickered. "It is not wrong," Father Julian replied. His voice was low. It was steady. "I am innocent." "Are you?" He looked at me. He did not blink. The shadows in the chapel were deep. They pooled in the corners. They waited. I held the letter. My hands shook. The paper was thin. It was damp. It smelled of rain and rot. I had found it in the root cellar. It...
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