The Distant Affair
The Distant Affair The Distant Affair The letter arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with wax the colour of dried blood. Eleanor Vane turned it over in her hands, feeling the weight of something she had not dared to hope for in all these years. The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakable—loped and hurried, the kind of script that belonged to a man who wrote with one hand while the other gripped a...
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