The Pale Verdict
The room smelled of wet wool and old paper, a scent that had seeped into the very grain of the oak desk where Julian sat, his hands trembling slightly as he held the heavy, brass-bound ledger that had been his father’s, and before that, his grandfather’s, a relic of an institution that did not merely occupy the building but seemed to inhabit the bones of the house, the silence of the garden,...
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