The Pale Tale
The train hissed to a stop in the gray mist of Kettering, a sound like a long, dying breath, and Thomas Ashworth stepped onto the platform with the heavy, mechanical precision of a man who had forgotten how to walk without purpose. He carried nothing but a canvas duffel that had seen three winters and a small, brass-handled lantern that he kept wrapped in oilcloth, its surface tarnished by the...
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