The Pale Garden

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2026-08-20 18:59:40 -

The Pale Garden

The fog in Blackwood had a weight to it, a dense, grey substance that seemed to press against the windowpanes of my counting-house like a living thing seeking entry, and I confess that as I sat there, the clock ticking its slow, indifferent rhythm in the corner, I felt the particular chill of a man who has mistaken his own ambition for a soul. I was a man of ledgers and iron, a craftsman of the...

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