The Pale Door
The rain has been falling for three days, a relentless, industrial gray sheet that turns the cobblestones of Millbrook into a slick, mirrored abyss where the streetlamps reflect with a trembling, sickly yellow ferocity. You stand at the window of your cramped office, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the telegraph wire outside, and you watch the water...
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