The Faded Paradox
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the gravel drive of the Whitmore estate into a slurry of mud and stone. Thomas stood at the window, his hands resting on the cold glass, watching the water drip down in long, unbroken lines. He was a large man, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light from the hallway, and he wore his uniform not with pride,...
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