The Pale Verdict
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it thumped, a dull, bruised sound that seemed to originate from the earth itself rather than the iron tongue swinging above the steeple, and I stood in the shadow of the oak tree, my fingers tracing the rough, vertical fissures of the bark, feeling the cold seep through the leather of my gloves, knowing that the verdict had already been rendered...
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