The Distant Affair
The rain did not fall so much as it suspended itself in the air, a fine, grey mist that clung to the high windows of the Ministry of Internal Order. Inside the circular chamber, where the air was always still and smelled faintly of ozone and old paper, Silas Thorne stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was a man of sixty, his uniform pressed to a sharp, geometric precision, the...
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