The Distant Clue
The rain in the Appalachian hollows did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended, gray curtain that blurred the boundary between the earth and the sky, turning the forest into a ghostly, breathing entity that seemed to inhale the sorrow of the land and exhale it as mist; Elias Thorne walked with a limp that had become indistinguishable from a rhythm, a wooden metronome of his own making, his...
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