The Faded Quadrant
Colm Yeats was a constable in the service of the minor lord of the valley, and he was thirty-two years old when the fog took the man. The boundary line was not a fence. It was a shift in the mud, a place where the packed earth of the village road gave way to the sucking, black bog of the moor. I stood there, holding the hem of my coat, feeling the dampness creep up my ankles. The air smelled of...
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