The Pale Door
Chapter One The weight of the bet book of a defunct club had always been a specific, dull ache in Opal Roudebush’s left pocket, a reminder of debts he had paid in sweat and silence. He stood at the threshold of the distillery watchman’s hut, looking back at the empty field where the tin mines used to be, now just a stretch of wet grass under a grey sky. The second rain had finished the first,...
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