The Pale Tower
The air in the hall of the old textile mill hung thick with the scent of stale beer and the damp, metallic tang of autumn rain that had been drumming against the high, arched windows since dawn. It was a celebration of sorts, a forced merriment that the town of Ashworth had been compelled to endure, marking the retirement of the local constabulary’s most senior officer, a man named Elias...
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