The Pale Altar
The stone wall at the edge of the village did not keep out the wind, but it did keep out the future. It stood there, ancient and pale, a scar in the green fabric of the valley, separating the cultivated fields from the high, empty moor. Thomas Bradshaw walked it every morning. He was a clerk in the municipal office, a man of precise ledgers and quiet habits, and he believed that order was the...
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