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Short Story On Wesley Crossing

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Rain in Wesley Crossing was awfully unpleasant. It was very wet, sliced sideways, and chilled you to the very bone. The old tavern was over crowded with loud drunk men fighting, as tails purred and rubbed against anything with a snake between their legs. The baker down the way was warming the breads and jams he will sell in the morning. The village was almost always awake, unless in hiding from the higher courts, of course. Thomas was nervous as he walked the busy streets of Wesley Crossing. He tried to keep dry as the rain cries down on him. All he knew was to go to the cemetery along the cobblestone path, only then would his family be safe. When he walked North, 47 paces, and stopped just shy of a hooded figure. He watches as
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