The Pale Mist
Chapter One The port of Drogheda smelled of coal dust and wet wool, a grey slurry that coated the tongue and settled in the lungs of every man who worked the quays. I was Harold Layton, a junior actuary for the Northern Mutual, and I stood in the shadow of the crane, watching the flood line creep up the brickwork of the warehouse, three inches higher than it had been at dawn. The ledger in my...
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