The Distant Clue

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2026-08-19 15:28:47 -

The Distant Clue

The house had always been a mouth that refused to close. It sat on the crest of the hill in the Cotswolds, a sprawling, asymmetrical thing of pale stone and slate, its windows like dark, unblinking eyes staring down at the valley below. Arthur Penhaligon had returned to it after forty years of wandering, not as a son, but as a penitent. He was a man who had spent decades building a career in...

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