The Pale Tower
The road up to the Whitmore estate was a ribbon of grey gravel that seemed to stretch endlessly into the mist, and young Julian walked it with the heavy, plodding rhythm of a boy who had already walked too far, his small hands shoved deep into the pockets of a coat that was two sizes too large and smelled faintly of the damp wool of other people’s clothes. He was carrying a bundle wrapped in a...
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