The Distant Whispers
The rain hit the window. It hammered. It did not stop. I sat in the chair. The leather creaked. My hands were still. They had to be still. I looked at the map on the table. It was old. The ink was faded. The lines were thin. I traced them with my finger. I knew every bend. I knew every dead end. I had walked them for twenty years. I was a man of the law. Or so they said. I wore the badge. I...
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