The Pale Path
The border is the carpet. That is the first thing you must understand. It is not a line drawn in chalk, nor a fence of iron, but the edge of the red wool runner that stretches from the front door to the dining room. You are a soldier in a war that has no enemy, only a perimeter. You are Thomas, and you are tired, and the house is breathing around you. "Thomas," your daughter, Elise, says. She...
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