The Wistful Incense
"Read it." "Read what, Arthur?" "The file. The one with the blue tab. Page forty-two." Arthur did not look up. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, white and thin, trembling slightly against the cold plastic keys. The air in the room was stale, recycled through vents that hummed with a low, mechanical drone. Outside, the snow fell in thick, heavy clumps, burying the street, the cars, the...
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