The Pale Shadows
The train cut through the fog like a blade through wet wool, carrying Professor Elias Thorne northward toward the estate of his late wife, Clara. The air in the carriage was stale, recycled by the mechanical lungs of the industrial age, smelling of coal dust and damp wool. Elias sat with his briefcase on his lap, his knuckles white against the leather strap. He was a man of letters, of quiet...
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