The Distant Clue
The rain hit the window with a rhythmic, wet slap. Thomas stared at the glass. His reflection stared back. It was a gray blur. A shape without edges. He held a cigarette in his left hand. The smoke curled. It rose like a ghost. It dissolved into the dark air of the study. Outside, the trees were bare. They stood like skeletal fingers. They clawed at the low, gray sky. The house was old. The...
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