The Faded Alibi
It began not with a sound, but with the weight of a wool shawl that had been woven from the hair of a thousand ghosts, a garment that smelled of damp earth and forgotten lullabies, which had fallen from the night sky like a single, heavy tear and landed with a soft, suffocating thud directly in the lap of Thomas Bradshaw as he sat in his small, rented room above the chandler’s shop in the...
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