The Wistful Asylum
The Wistful Asylum They called it Ashworth House, though no Ashworth had ever set foot in it. The bricks were the colour of old teeth, the windows like cataracts, and the iron railings around the perimeter had rusted into shapes that suggested hands reaching out or perhaps pushing something away. Eleanor Marchwood stood at the gate and looked at it the way one looks at the faces of people who...
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