The Pale Verdict
The rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the Council Chamber, blurring the grey dawn into a smear of slate and mud. Arthur Vane stood before the dais, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back that the knuckles whitened, his eyes fixed on the face of Judge Halloway. The air in the room was thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of damp wool and the rot of old wood that permeated...
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