The Faded Quadrant
The rain fell in heavy, grey sheets against the leaded windows of the infirmary, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very stones of the old St. Jude’s Asylum for the Insane and the Damned, and Thomas Bradshaw sat on the edge of his cot, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the terrible, crushing weight of the silence that had taken his daughter, Elspeth, three...
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