The Brighton Tides
Eliza Marsh was polishing the glass of Display Case 17 when she noticed him standing in the doorway. The beetles from the Mediterranean collection were arranged beneath her hands, their pin-stilled bodies gleaming in the gaslight. He was tall for a museum lecturer — tall for anything, really — and he wore his tweed jacket like it was armor against the world. "The Latin," he said, and she looked...
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