The Pale Letter
Chapter One The canal water in Oud-Venlo rose and fell with the breath of the tide, a slow, muscular heaving that swallowed the mud from the banks and spat it back out again, grey and slick. It was the kind of morning where the humidity sat on the skin like a wet wool blanket, making the hinges of every door in the town creak and swell against their frames, a constant, grinding protest against...
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