The Pale Letter
The bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring. It shattered. The sound was not a crash, but a sudden, violent absence of air, as if the sky itself had been punctured by a needle. The great bronze tongue, suspended for three centuries above the village of Oakhaven, swung in a wide, drunken arc and then fell, tearing its moorings from the stone with a shriek of metal on stone that silenced the entire...
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