The Distant Affair
The orchid sat in the center of the desk, white and waxy, smelling of nothing. Margaret stared at it. The petals were perfect. Unblemished. A stillness in the room that had nothing to do with the weather outside, where the rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the Ministry. "You are wasting your time, Margaret." The voice was dry. It came from the shadow near the door. Sir Julian...
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