The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 06:37:35 -

The rain hits the cobblestones of the precinct like a steady, rhythmic assault. You are standing under the flickering neon sign of the *Blue Anchor* pub, your coat soaked through, the cold seeping into your bones. The night is industrial, thick with the smell of wet asphalt and coal smoke. You are not here for the rain. You are here for Margaret. She is inside. You know this with the certainty...

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