The Wistful Incense
It was a matter of professional integrity, or so I told myself as I stood before the rusted gate of the Whitmore estate, my hands trembling not from the biting November wind but from the sheer, crushing weight of the obligation I had accepted. I had come to appraise the personal effects of Arthur Whitmore, a man whose name had once been synonymous with the highest echelons of civic virtue and...
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