The Faded River
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the street into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the dim, amber glow of the gas lamps which flickered with a nervous, arrhythmic pulse as if they were aware of the weight of the sky pressing down upon them. Inside the high-ceilinged study of the Whitmore estate, the air was thick with the scent of...
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