The Abscess
The first sign of doom, Alistair Whitmore knew, was always beauty. It appeared on a Thursday morning in October 1893, when he caught his reflection in the window of his consulting room and noticed a slight discoloration on the nape of his neck—a pink flush, barely visible, the color of rose petals pressed between the pages of an old book. He touched it gently with two fingers and felt nothing....
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