The Distant Legend
The air in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s Institute for the Correction of Juvenile Delinquents tasted of wet chalk, rusted iron, and the stale, sweet rot of boiled turnips that had been simmering in the basement kitchens since the early morning fog had rolled off the River Calder, a grey, clinging shroud that seemed to seep into the very stones of the building. It was a place designed by men who...
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