The Pale Tower
The hum began in the teeth, a low, subsonic vibration that Dr. Elias Thorne mistook for the settling of the old foundations as the autumn rains soaked into the earth of Blackwood Hall. He was forty years old, a historian of such reclusive intensity that his colleagues at the university had begun to speak of him in the past tense, and he sat in the library’s high-backed chair, his fingers...
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