The Pale Shadows
The feast hall of the Abbey of St. Jude was a cavern of stone and smoke, where the smell of roasted pork and stale ale mingled with the incense that clung to the vaulted ceiling, and I sat at the edge of the table, my hands trembling beneath the linen cloth, watching the shadows play across the faces of the brothers who feasted with the ease of men who had never known the weight of a secret. It...
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