The Pale Bridge
Act I "You are late, Nino," the voice said from the dark, though no one stood there but the dust. Nino Nicosi, thirty-two years old and already hollowed out by the work, stepped onto the wet stone of the canal bank, his boots sinking into the mud that smelled of rot and old paper. He clutched the cracked jade mirror in his left hand, its weight a cold anchor against his chest, while the rain...
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