The Pale Altar
The Pale Altar The chapel stood at the edge of the Yorkshire moors like a question no one had asked aloud. Thomas Blackwell had not intended to inherit it. The letter from the solicitor in Leeds had arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in paper so thin it seemed to tremble under his fingers. An aunt he barely remembered—Catherine, wife of a distant cousin's son—had died in a hospice in Harrogate, and...
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