The Faded Portrait
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, grey curtain that erased the edges of the city and turned the cobblestones into mirrors of black glass. Thomas Vane stood at the window of his temporary lodging, a third-floor room in a hotel that smelled of damp wool and stale tobacco, watching the street below. He was a man carved from silence and duty, a senior inspector for the...
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