The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick mirrors that reflected the gaslight in trembling, amber shards. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his modest study, watching the water bead and run down the glass, a rhythmic shudder that matched the unease settling in his chest. He was a man of few possessions and fewer ambitions, a clerk in the...
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