The Distant Ghost
The steam from the tea cup curled into the stagnant air of the archive, a pale, serpentine ghost that you watched with a detached, professional interest, your fingers resting lightly on the cold brass rim of the magnifying glass. You are not a man who believes in spirits, nor in the metaphysical whims of the Victorian era, yet here you are, seated in the sub-basement of the Department of...
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