The Pale Bridge
The bell tolled the hour of vespers, a deep and resonant bronze sound that seemed to vibrate within the marrow of my bones, marking the final departure of the season from the stone halls of the Abbey of Saint Jude. I stood at the edge of the refectory, my fingers lingering on the cold oak banister, watching the monks file past in their heavy, undyed robes, a river of silent grey flowing toward...
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