The Distant Affair
The blade, a strip of tempered steel no wider than a finger and cold as the marrow of winter, was the only thing in the world that still held the shape of order, and as Marcus Thorne drove it into the wet, churning mud of the riverbank, he felt the resistance of the earth accept the metal with a finality that was almost gentle, a physical rejection of the chaos that had been tearing at his mind...
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