The Pale Mist
The road to the Ashworth estate is not so much a path as a scar cut into the grey flanks of the Yorkshire moors, a jagged line of wet heather and blackened stone that you have walked so many times in your mind that the blisters on your feet are now imaginary, a phantom pain that has replaced the real ache of your left knee, that joint which the rain has swollen into a hard, white knot, a knot...
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