The Faded Alibi
The heavy oak door of the Ward of St. Jude’s, a structure so ancient that its stones had been worn smooth by centuries of anxious hands, stood slightly ajar, admitting a sliver of the pale, indifferent moonlight that had bathed the city for a thousand years, a light that did not judge, did not forgive, but simply illuminated the grime and the glory of the masonry with equal, terrible precision....
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