The Distant Nightmare
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it had turned the cobblestones of Whitehall into a slick, black mirror that reflected the gas lamps in long, trembling streaks of amber and grey. You stood in the corner of the Inspector’s office, a shadow among shadows, your coat heavy with the damp chill of the street outside, while the air inside remained stifling, thick with the scent of stale...
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