The Golden Suspect
The bread was dry. It sat on the stone table, a slab of grey rye. I broke it. The crust crumbled. Fine dust rose. It looked like ash. I ate a piece. It tasted of nothing. My jaw ached. I am Aldous. I am the warden. The town is Millhaven. It sits in a valley. The mist is thick. It clings to the stone. It clings to the wool. It clings to the skin. My duty is simple. I guard the granary. The...
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