The Pale Shadows
Chapter One "You’re bleeding, Jose." The sound of the mill wheel, freed for the season, groaned in the distance, a heavy, rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the floorboards of the back room where the proof sheets lay in neat, damp stacks. Jose Uribe looked down at his hand. A thin line of red welled from the cut on his thumb, where he had slipped on the edge of the whale-oil ledger. The...
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