The Faded Alibi
The rain had been falling on London for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the City into a slick, mirror-like expanse, reflecting the neon bleed of the shops and the tired faces of the commuters who huddled under umbrellas that looked like broken mushrooms. I stood at the window of my office on the fourteenth floor of the Whitmore Institute, watching the water...
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