The Distant Clue
The iron gate of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Insane stood ajar in the grey twilight, its hinges weeping rust into the muddy ditch that bordered the estate, a weeping that seemed to echo the hollow ache in my own chest where my brother, Arthur, had once resided before the fever took his mind and the institution took his body. I was not there to visit, though the official dispatch bore the seal of...
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