The Pale Circus
The debt is three winters, Sergeant Quimby, and the Warden’s ledger does not lie. Chapter One Mildred Quimby stood in the doorway of the gymnasium, his breath pluming in the stale, coal-damp air. The room was a hollow shell of a nearly-bank club, its walls sweating condensation that ran in dark rivulets down the plaster, pooling on the floorboards where the floor had warped from years of...
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