The Pale Meridian
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey and suspended veil that blurred the sharp edges of the marble colonnade into a soft, indistinct smear. Marcus Thorne stood at the base of the steps, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the dampness seep through the heavy wool of his overcoat. He was a man composed of right angles and rigid duties, a Senior Inspector in a city that had long...
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