The Faded Alibi
The mud in the courtyard of the Palace of Justice was not merely wet, but a thick, sucking sludge that seemed to have a will of its own, grasping at the boots of every man who dared to step into the grey dawn, and I stood there, my uniform torn and stained with a mixture of rain and something darker, watching the great oak tree in the center of the square shudder in the wind, its branches bare...
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