The Pale Tale
Elias Vane, you are blocking the queue. The voice came from the front of the line, sharp and thin as a needle pulled through silk, and it belonged to Mr. Thorne, the magistrate of Harrowgate, who stood with his arms crossed over a coat that fit him far too well. I stepped back, my boots scraping against the wet cobblestones of the market square, and the sound of the crowd shuffling and...
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