The Distant Summer
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a grey, persistent dust that coated the slate roof of the farmhouse in a layer of wet ash. Silas Vane sat in the center of the large, drafty hall, his back against the cold stone of the hearth, his hands resting on his knees, fingers stained with the dark, caked earth of the cellar. He was a man built for the old world, broad-shouldered and...
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