The Pale Tower
The banquet hall of the old manor, a sprawling relic of stone and timber that had stood on the edge of the moor for three centuries, was not dark, but it was dim, the light of a hundred tallow candles struggling against the encroaching night and the heavy, suffocating weight of the air which seemed to have settled into the very bones of the room like damp wool. They had come from every village...
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