The Distant Clue
The fog sat heavy on the valley floor. It had settled in the night. The air was still. Cold. Margaret Holloway stood at the window. She watched the mist. It did not move. It did not clear. It simply was. A white wall against the dark pines. She turned away. Her hands were dry. Cracked at the knuckles. She washed them again. The soap suds were thin. The water was cold. She dried her hands on the...
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