The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell on the grey stone of the village square like a ceaseless, silent accusation, turning the mud into a slurry that sucked at the boots of those who dared to walk it. Silas Vane walked. He was a tall man, his shoulders broad enough to block the wind, but lately they seemed to carry a weight that had nothing to do with the rain. He wore the old...
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