The Pale Exile
The debt is never paid; it is only moved. I remember the sound of the foghorn before I saw the dog. It was a low, mournful blast that rolled off the water at Haneul, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the fillings of my teeth, and then, cutting through the damp air with a sharp, frantic bark, came the dog. It stood on the embankment, its fur matted with salt spray, answering the horn as if it...
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