The Pale Banner
Act I The city of Amsterdam did not sleep; it merely held its breath, the canals black and still beneath a sky that was not quite night nor day, a suspended gray that pressed against the brickwork of the attics and the scrubland of thorn and wire that bordered the city limits. In the lower gate, the air tasted of wet iron and rot, the smell of a world being slowly digested. Gerrit Zeeman,...
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