The Distant Blade
The house stood on the hill like a broken tooth. It was a Victorian monstrosity of black iron and soot. Smoke curled from its chimneys, thin and gray, dissolving into the London fog. Thomas Hale stood in the center of the grand hall. He held the blade in his left hand. The blade was a letter opener. It was simple. Steel. Sharp. It had a handle of dark wood, worn smooth by years of use. Thomas...
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