The Distant Clue
The iron gate groaned open with a sound like a dying breath, a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to suck the very warmth from the October air, and I stood there, my hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had settled over the Whitmore estate, a silence so profound and absolute it felt less like the absence of sound and more like a physical...
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