The Pale Door
The fog did not roll in; it stood, a thick, gray wall against the blackened timbers of the mill, sealing the world outside from the world inside. Elias Thorne stood by the heavy oak door, his hand resting on the iron latch that had never once been thrown from the inside in the forty years he had served its master. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders and deep in the chest, but the years...
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