The Pale Letter
The great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude was a cavern of stone and silence, its vaulted ceiling lost in the gloom above the flickering tallow candles. It was the Feast of the Assumption, a night when the air grew thick with the scent of beeswax and the damp earth that seeped through the flagstones. In the center of this vast, cold space stood a structure of white oak and pale linen, a scaffold...
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