The Distant Clue
The fog did not lift over the valley of Elmswood so much as it thickened, a grey wool drawn tight against the skin of the earth, erasing the distinction between the road and the ditch, between the living and the dead. Thomas Bradshaw walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance that seemed to recede as he advanced. He was the...
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