The Pale Verdict
The chisel slipped, a hair’s breadth, a deviation no wider than a human hair, and the sound it made against the oak was a dry, brittle crack that echoed in the silence of the workshop like a bone breaking in a quiet room. I looked at the piece, the mahogany table leg I had been shaping for the Alderman’s new study, and I saw the flaw, a tiny splinter of light caught in the grain, a mistake that...
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