The Faded Road
The heavy oak door of the Abbey of Saint Jude did not creak when it swung open, for it had been oiled by hands that had not touched a mortal soul in three centuries, and instead it sighed, a low, resonant exhalation that seemed to originate from the very marrow of the stone walls, welcoming Edward Ashworth into the cathedral’s breathless silence where the air tasted of old incense, damp...
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