The Pale Letter
The bread is hard as stone and you are hungry, but not in the way that men are usually hungry, for your stomach has forgotten the sensation of fullness long ago and now it is a hollow place, a cave in the chest where the wind howls through the ribs. You are Thomas Bradshaw, or at least that is the name scratched into the wooden tag around your neck, and you are a prisoner in the deep cellar of...
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