The Faded Alibi
The fog in Harrowgate did not lift; it thickened, a grey wool drawn tight around the throat of the town. It swallowed the cobblestones, the spires of the old stone houses, and the faces of the men who walked them. Elias Vane walked with his head down, counting the cracks in the pavement. Each fracture was a sentence in a language he was only beginning to speak. He was a man of few words, but...
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