The Pale Verdict
The dust in the archive room did not settle. It hung. It breathed. Margaret Holloway moved through the haze like a ghost in her own life. She wore a grey cardigan. The wool was thin. It had worn through at the elbows. She did not care. She cared about the files. Row after row of files. Names in ink. Dates in pencil. The past was a heavy thing. It weighed on her shoulders. It sat on her chest....
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