The Pale Meridian
The dinner party at the Whitmore estate had been a suffocating affair, a cascade of clinking crystal and forced laughter that had done nothing to mask the underlying tension in the air, which hung thick and heavy like the smoke from the cigars that General Elias Whitmore had been smoking since before sunset. Elias sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his uniform pristine, his medals...
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