The Faded Alibi
The departure was not marked by the clatter of a carriage or the sharp whistle of a steam engine, but by the slow, irreversible sliding of a door that had been held open for a lifetime, closing with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight settling upon the shoulders of Margaret Ashworth, who stood in the center of the foyer of the manor house in the fading amber light of a November...
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