The Pale Altar
Thorne, you are being difficult. The voice of Director Halloway did not rise, which was worse than shouting; it sat in the air like a damp towel, heavy and suffocating, while I stood before the glass partition of his office, my hand still resting on the cold metal of the doorframe. He was looking at the ceiling, at the water stain that had shaped itself into a vague map of the Rhineland over...
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