The Distant Affair
The rain has been falling on the slate roof of the Whitmore estate for three days, a rhythmic, hollow drumming that you have come to associate with the beating of your own heart. You sit in the study, the air thick with the scent of old paper and damp wool, your hands resting on the arms of the chair. They are steady. They have always been steady. You are a man of the law, a shield for the...
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