The Distant Nightmare
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass, a relentless, grey skin stretched over the windowpane of the library, blurring the world outside into a watercolor of indeterminate sorrow. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon sat hunched over a desk that smelled of dried oak and old dust, his fingers tracing the spine of a first edition of *The Faerie Queene* with the tenderness of a man...
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