The Distant Clue
I. The Attic Room She had always told herself the attic was just an attic — dusty rafters, moth-eaten wool coats belonging to strangers who wore her father's face in photographs, trunks whose latches had rusted shut against the English damp. But the letter arrived on a Tuesday, in a hand so recognisably her mother's that Eleanor could not tell whether to open it or bury it in the garden...
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