The Pale Path
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, persistent mist that clung to the soot-stained brickwork of the industrial quarter, turning the gaslights into blurred, weeping halos of amber. I stood before the full-length mirror in the dressing room of the textile factory, my hands resting on the cold iron rail, watching the reflection of a man who looked less like a person and more like...
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