The Faded Apartment
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey mist that clung to the cobblestones of the old quarter of Harrowgate, turning the ancient limestone walls into a wet, breathing skin that seemed to weep for the living rather than the dead, and it was into this damp, suffocating silence that Arthur Penhaligon walked, his boots heavy with the mud of a journey that had taken...
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