The Pale Bridge
Chapter One "Stepan, you’re bleeding on the floorboards," Masha said, not looking up from the mending she did at the edge of the cot. Stepan Vasilyev stood in the doorway of the hospital ward, the air heavy with boiled linens and the particular, heavy quiet of snow pressing against the glass. He was a border warden, thirty-two years old, and his hands, which had spent the last decade hauling...
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