The Faded Portrait
The rain had not ceased for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into slick mirrors of the leaden sky, and it was in this damp, suffocating quiet that Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose mind had once soared with the precision of a mathematician’s compass, stood before the window of the university library, watching his reflection ghost through the glass, a...
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