The Distant Clue
The leather of my left knee had begun to peel long before the war did. It was a slow, granular erosion, a shedding of the hide that no amount of oil or polish could arrest. I was a man who understood the mechanics of the body, how the joints locked and the sinews strained, but I had never understood the mechanics of the mind. That was a luxury reserved for men like Silas Thorne, who stood at...
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