The Pale Bridge
Chapter One Every man in Glasgow knows the weight of a lie before he has to carry it up the hill. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth, the same metallic tang that clings to the tongue after a long shift in the shipyards, but this was different, sharp and cold, like biting down on a rusted nail. I sat up in the narrow bed of my room above the chandler’s shop on Sauchiehall Street, the...
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