The Pale Verdict
The hall smelled of wet wool and old stone. It was a grand room, or it had been, before the years had eaten the plaster off the walls and the light had faded to a bruised grey. Margaret stood at the edge of the dance floor. The music was a low hum, barely a sound, more like a vibration in the floorboards. Around her, the guests moved. They were not quite people. They were shapes in grey coats,...
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