The Wistful Incense
The departure was not a scene of weeping, nor was it marked by the dramatic tearing of fabric that one might expect from a man whose soul was being ripped from the fabric of his duty, but rather a quiet, almost bureaucratic exhalation of air in the high, vaulted corridor of the Ministry of Internal Order. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the threshold of the Office of Ethical Compliance, a room that...
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