The Distant Crown
The rain on the cobblestones sounded like gravel being thrown against a window. Thomas Hale stood in the doorway of the precinct, his collar soaked, the wool of his uniform heavy with dampness. He watched the steam rise from the street drains, curling into the gray twilight of the industrial district. The building behind him was old. It had been old for a long time. The brickwork was pitted,...
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