The Pale Tower
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the boundary between the inside of the clinic and the wet, rotting world outside, where Margaret Holloway stood with her back to the door, her hands trembling not from cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the moment, and she watched Dr. Elias Thorne, the senior archivist of the mind, adjust his spectacles...
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