The Golden Visit
The iron gate did not open with a sound but with a sensation, a sudden, heavy silence that fell upon the courtyard of the Abbey of St. Jude like a shroud of wet wool. Thomas Bradshaw stood before it, his hands bound by links of cold steel that bit into his wrists with the intimacy of a lover’s embrace, and he watched as the massive oak doors swung inward, revealing not the muddy path to the...
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