The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 18:30:53 -

The wind in the hollows of the city did not howl, as the poets of the lower quarters claimed, but it whispered. It was a dry, papery sound, like the turning of pages in a book no one was reading. Thomas Bradshaw sat on the roof of his narrow stone house, his back against the cold brick, watching the mist curl around the spires of the cathedral. He was an old man now, his hair the color of the...

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