The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-18 15:09:40 -

The Pale Bridge

The train was late, which meant that Arthur Penhaligon had to sit on the cold, steel-benched platform of the station that no longer appeared on any of the maps they printed in the headquarters building in London, a building that smelled of wet wool and stale coffee and the particular, metallic tang of bureaucracy, where the air conditioning hummed a low, constant B-flat that seemed to vibrate...

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