The Pale Letter
The letter lay on the floor. It was old. The paper had turned the color of weak tea. The ink had faded to a ghost of gray. I picked it up. My hands were dirty. They were always dirty. I am a man who finds things. I look for what is lost. I look for what is hidden. I am paid for my eyes. I am paid for my silence. My name is Silas Vane. I live in a house that is falling apart. The roof leaks in...
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