The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into mirrors for a sky that had forgotten how to shine, and within this damp, breathless silence, Arthur Penhaligon moved through the corridors of the Whitmore Institute with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man carrying a weight that had no physical form yet pressed down on...
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