The Distant Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the cobblestones of Halloway Lane looked like wet slate. Elias Thorne stood on the stoop of the municipal archive, his umbrella abandoned in the mud, watching the water pool in the gutters. He was a man who had spent forty years cataloging the past, believing that if he could file...
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