The Wistful Skyline
The rain hit the mud of the courtyard in a sheet, heavy and cold, turning the earth into a slick, sucking mire that threatened to swallow the boots of the two men locked in a grapple at the center of the yard. Thomas Bradshaw felt the elbow of his adversary drive into his ribs, a dull, bruising thud that resonated deep in his chest, but he did not stagger, nor did he retreat, for he had long...
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