The Faded Alibi
Gundersen’s coat had hung by the door for twelve years, its wool thinning at the elbows until it was little more than a memory of grey. He remembered the day he left the assembly room, the air heavy with damp wool and the stale tobacco of men who owed their lives to the lock-keepers. It was a dry wind that cracked the clay outside, a physical fact that dried the lips and tightened the skin over...
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