The Distant Affair
The cellar was a mouth of stone, dark and wet, smelling of turned earth and the stale, coppery tang of old blood that had long since seeped into the mortar. Thomas stood in the center of the room, his hands bound behind his back with a length of rope that had been soaked in brine, making the fibers bite into his wrists like a live wire. Around him, the air was thick with the low, humming...
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