The Distant Clue
The letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the ink still wet and black as a bruise. Captain Elias Thorne did not read it. He watched the rain streak the windowpane of the study, blurring the iron-grey sky of 1893 into a smear of charcoal and slate. The house was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, a metronome counting down the seconds of his remaining life. He was a...
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