The Pale Altar
The Pale Altar The chapel had no roof anymore, not since the storm of 1953, but the altar stood with an obstinacy that bordered on rudeness. It was pale — not white, not grey, but the particular pallor of something that had absorbed so much absence it had forgotten what colour meant. Thomas Blackwell stood before it with his hands in his coat pockets and felt, for the first time in eleven...
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