The Faded Frontier
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey mist that smelled of wet limestone and old iron. I stood on the porch of the house I had inherited, or perhaps the house I had been condemned to, watching the last of the movers’ trucks dissolve into the fog. The structure itself was a monstrosity of Victorian ambition, a sprawling edifice of dark timber and slate that seemed...
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