The Pale Tale
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the cobblestones of Blackwood Lane and the soot-stained bricks of the factories that loomed above them like the ribs of some buried, breathing leviathan. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the platform, his leather satchel heavy against his hip, watching the steam from the...
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