The Pale Verdict
The table is long. It stretches into the dark. You sit at the head. You do not wish to. But the chair is there. The plate is there. The bread is torn. You eat. You must eat. The bread is hard. It is dry. It tastes of dust. And of fear. Around you, they laugh. “More wine, Thomas,” says the man in the gray suit. He is Mr. Vane. He is the manager. He is the law. He is the wall. You do not look at...
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