The Faded Sutra
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of London into slick, black mirrors reflecting the gaslight in fractured, trembling shards, and I stood in the doorway of my office at the Whitmore & Sons Insurance Company, watching the last of my colleagues file out into the wet evening, their umbrellas opening and closing like the breathing...
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