The Pale Shadows
The final signature was due by noon, Roisin said, her pen hovering over the ledger. She stood before the vast plate glass of the Ashford Textile Mill’s main office, the dry thunder of the wind rattling the frames outside. The glass was cold to the touch, a slab of industrial silence that reflected her back at her, pale and distorted by the curvature of the pane. Roisin Prendergast had spent...
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