The Wistful Asylum
The weight of the water was a fact that no amount of rhetoric could change, and Salvatore Zito knew this with the bone-deep certainty of a man who had spent thirty years hauling nets in the shallows of the Bay of Naples, where the tide did not care for the politics of the Council or the purity of the blood. He sat in the cramped office of the pawnbroker, Donato, whose fingers were stained...
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