The Distant Cartograph
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey veil that turned the cobblestones of Harrowgate into slick, black mirrors reflecting the dim glow of the gas lamps. I stood in the shadow of the old courthouse, my back pressed against the cold, damp stone, feeling the weight of the silence that had settled over the town like a shroud. It was a silence born of expectation, of eyes...
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