The Pale Tale
The bell tolled. It was a low, iron sound. It hung in the air of the library. Thomas heard it. He looked up. His hands were stained with ink. The ink was black. It was deep in his nails. He had been working for hours. The candles flickered. The shadows danced on the stone walls. Thomas was a clerk. He was quiet. He was small. He wore a grey robe. The robe was old. The threads were loose. He did...
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