The Dark Corridor
The sea had always been a thief, but in Harwich it stole things gradually — first the paint from the clapboard houses, then the colour from the faces of men who went out on the water and came back thinner, then finally the memory of why they'd stayed at all. Arthur Vane had been coming to this coast for forty-three years. He knew every salt-bleached pier, every fishmonger's back alley that...
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