The Distant Clue

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2026-08-21 17:38:38 -

The Distant Clue

The coat was not mine. It hung on the hook by the door, a heavy thing of black wool, smelling of damp earth and stale tobacco. I knew the weight of it before I touched it. I knew the way the lining rubbed against the inner seam, a chafe that only a man who had carried a rifle for ten years would know. It was my father’s coat. He had died in the winter, in the field, and the corps had sent it...

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