The Pale Door
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a gray, persistent curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the distinction between the road and the ditch, between the sky and the mud, ceased to exist entirely, and in this state of suspended limbo, Arthur Pendelton woke not to the sound of the storm but to the silence that followed it, a silence so profound it felt heavy in his ears, a...
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