The Pale Tower
The gavel struck the wooden block with a sound like a bone snapping in the quiet, dust-moted air of the municipal court, and Arthur Pendelton did not flinch, but his hands, resting flat on the cold surface of the table, trembled with a violence that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, where the scent of stale coffee and floor wax hung heavy and suffocating, a tangible weight that...
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