The Faded Alibi
The rain in Harrow’s End had a specific quality, a heavy, persistent weight that seemed to press the colors out of the world, leaving the village in a state of perpetual, gray twilight. Elias Thorne drove his van through the mist, the wipers beating a rhythmic, tired against the windshield, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. He was not a man who traveled for pleasure; he traveled for...
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