The Faded Alibi
The rain fell on the slate roofs of the chateau, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the line between the world and the window. Marcus Thorne sat in the high-backed chair. He did not look like a man of seventy. He looked like a ruin. The years had carved their ledges into his face, leaving deep valleys where the light of youth had once pooled. He held a letter in his hands. The paper was...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews