The Pale Altar
The letter lay on the workbench, its edges yellowed and soft from the damp air of the cellar, and Silas Vane read the figure printed in the clerk’s cramped hand three times before he allowed himself to believe it, the sum of forty pounds that would clear the debt owed to the bank in Millhaven, a debt that had grown like a rust stain on the sole of his shoe over the last six years. He was a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews