The Distant Blade
The wind did not howl so much as it scraped, a dry, arid sound like a knife being drawn slowly across the rim of a ceramic plate, stripping the last of the warmth from the stone walls of the Citadel of St. Jude, that ancient, ossified institution of law and order which had stood on the cliffs of the English coast for a thousand years, indifferent to the tides and the turning of ages. I was...
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