The Quiet Sanctuary
The jazz in the basement club was a frantic, desperate sound, the kind of music that tried to drown out the silence of a dying era. Dr. Alistair Vance sat in the furthest booth, his eyes tracing the jagged movements of the dancers. To the world, he was a successful psychoanalyst in a tailored charcoal suit; to the few who knew the truth, he was the last man in New York who remembered how to...
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