The Distant Legend
The hall smells of wet wool and stale beer. You stand by the window. The glass fogs under your breath. It is a small, grim thing. A breath in a cold room. Outside, the city roars. Steam rises from the grates. It curls like a ghost. It does not want to be seen. You watch it vanish. You are fifty years old. Your hands shake. They are not cold. They are afraid. Margaret is there. She is by the...
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