The Pale Tale
The rain had been falling on the town of Oakhaven for three days, a persistent, gray drizzle that seeped into the mortar of the brick facades and settled in the bones of the residents, creating a damp, pervasive chill that seemed to suspend time in the narrow streets where the air smelled of wet wool and old paper. Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose life had been defined by the meticulous...
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