The Distant Legend
Act I Who can tell the difference between a stain and a face? Théophile Soileau asked the question aloud to the damp air of the staff room, his voice thinning into the fog that had stopped the boats for three days straight, leaving the air heavy with the metallic taste of stagnant water and the sharp, rhythmic clack of the tobacco cutter in the next room. He was thirty-four, a man who had...
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