The Pale Dance
Chapter One Lucien Bouchard had been a constable for twenty-two years, a fact that cost him his left knee and most of his hearing in the left ear. He stood now in the mud of the terraced hills, the first frost biting through his wool trousers, holding a loom weight that bore the maker’s mark of a man who no longer lived. The weight was cold, heavy, and the only thing he had left that belonged...
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