The Pale Letter
The bell at the apothecary tower did not ring so much as it exhaled, a long, mournful gust that rattled the shutters of the old stone houses in Dunmore and sent a fine dust of limestone drifting down into the square where the market had just emptied itself of its morning crowd. I stood at the threshold of my father’s shop, watching the dust settle on the cobblestones, knowing with a certainty...
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