The Distant Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the edge of the heath and the distant, jagged teeth of the moorland, and Professor Alistair Vane stood beneath the eaves of the abandoned waystation, his coat soaked through to the bone, holding in his trembling hands a small, intricate box of black wood that had once belonged to his late wife, Eleanor, a...
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