The Distant Clue
The ink was drying on the ledger when Thomas Ashworth felt the first tremor. It was a small thing, a vibration in the jaw that traveled down the neck and settled in the chest. He set down his pen. The nib clicked against the porcelain well. Outside, the rain lashed the glass of the counting house, blurring the view of the dockyard into a gray smear. Thomas had been the master of the firm for...
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