The Pale Door
Did he truly believe that surrender would open the way? Fernand Gauthier stood before the semaphore station, the rain slicking the cobblestones of the working arrondissement until they shone like black glass, and watched the light die behind the low clouds. He was thirty-two years old, a scholar of modest renown, yet he carried the weight of a man who had already lost, a defeat he had chosen...
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