The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted. It hammered against the leaded glass of the window, a rhythmic, percussive argument against the silence of the study. Dr. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed mahogany chair, the wood worn smooth by three generations of hands that had gripped it in anger or despair. His own hands lay flat on his lap, trembling with a faint, persistent vibration that...
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