The Faded Quadrant
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that blurred the edges of the town into a watery smear of brick and slate. Arthur Penhaligon stood at the window of his cramped office in the university’s annex, watching the water trace its chaotic paths down the glass, his fingers drumming a nervous, irregular rhythm against the cold pane. He was a man who dealt in the...
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