The Distant Wound
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the Lower Ward into a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the flickering, sickly yellow light of the streetlamps, which hummed with a low, electric drone that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of my bones as I walked toward the manor house at the edge of the cliff, where the fog usually rolled...
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