The Pale Letter
The rain did not fall so much as it drifted, a fine, persistent mist that settled into the pores of the limestone walls and the heavy wool of Edward Ashworth’s coat, creating a dampness that seemed to originate not from the sky but from the earth itself. He stood in the center of the archive room, a space that smelled of rotting paper and cold iron, and watched the letters on the desk before...
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