The Faded Attic
The rain had been falling for three days straight, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city and turned the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors reflecting the dying gasp of the gaslights, and within the heavy, damp air of the precinct’s second-floor interrogation room, the smell of wet wool and stale tobacco hung thick enough to chew on, a suffocating blanket that pressed...
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