The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-19 18:59:47 -

The Pale Bridge

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the Halloway Textile Mill. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and machine oil. Arthur Halloway stood before the loom, his hands still. He was a small man, quiet, with eyes that seemed to look through the threads rather than at them. He had worked here for twenty years. Twenty years of...

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