The Faded Bouquet
The fire did not begin with a spark, nor with the careless discard of a lit match, but with a slow, suffocating inhalation of heat that seemed to rise from the very foundations of the old manor house on the edge of the moor, a place where the heath grass grew tall and yellow and the wind carried the scent of peat and distant rain, and it was in this moment of incipient doom that Professor...
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