The Pale Tale
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Correctional Institute was a cathedral of cold light, its vaulted ceiling lost in a haze of steam that rose from the pots of boiling soup and the breath of the inmates who sat in rigid rows. It was a spectacle of grotesque plenty, a feast that was also a prison, where the silverware clinked with the sound of bone against bone, and the air hung heavy with the...
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