The Pale Verdict
The fog rolled off the estuary like a shroud. It swallowed the moorland whole. Thomas Ashworth walked. His boots sank into the wet peat. The rain had stopped an hour ago. The air smelled of iron and rot. He carried a satchel. Inside was a single volume. The book was bound in cracked leather. It was the only thing he owned that mattered. He had come to the village of Blackwater to find the man....
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