The Pale Circus
Chapter One The low cloud had not lifted in three weeks, pressing down on the whaling port of Hokkaido with the weight of wet wool. Akari Mori, forty years old and failing in the lungs, sat at the census taker’s desk, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The paper on the desk was brittle, stained with the grease of the harbor and the salt of the sea, and he...
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