The Wistful Letter
The bone snapped under the weight of the hammer. Not with a cry. Not with a scream. It failed with a dry, hollow crack, like a twig breaking in winter. The fracture was clean. The splintered end jutting out from the marrow was jagged, white, and cold. Arthur Vane did not flinch. He held the specimen under the gaslight, turning it slowly. The light caught the exposed calcium. It shimmered. It...
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