The Pale Verdict
The rain had been falling for three days when I left the house. It was a grey, persistent drizzle that did not wash the dust from the cobblestones but merely made the grime slick and treacherous. I carried only a satchel of clothes and a small, leather-bound journal. My wife, Elise, stood by the door, her hand resting on the frame. She did not stop me. She never did. We had been married for...
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