The Pale Mist
The Pale Mist The mist in Whitby does not behave like mist elsewhere. It does not simply roll in from the North Sea and settle over the harbour like a wool blanket. It arrives with intention. It moves through the narrow streets of the cobbled town as though it knows which houses to visit and which to spare. It pauses outside the old stone church on St. Mary's Cliff and waits there, as though...
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