The Pale Circus
"You have no right to stand here," said Alderman Thorne. His voice was not loud. It did not need to be. In the stone hall, the silence was a living thing, pressing against the ears. Thomas Bradshaw stood. He held his staff. The wood was pale ash. It had been his father’s. His father had been a scholar of the old ways. Thomas was his son. "Sit down, lad," Thorne said. He sat in the high chair....
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