The Wistful Incense
The morning the bell-tower was dismantled, Silas stood on the cobblestones of Highgate, watching the iron framework groan and twist against the ancient stone like a limb being pulled from a body. He was not a man of flesh, at least not in the way the townspeople understood it, but he wore the shape of one so faithfully that the wind could not quite rattle the joints. He was a creature of the...
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