The Distant Affair
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey, suspended curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the stone walls of the manor seemed to breathe with a damp, sickly pulse. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair by the window, his hands wrapped around a letter that had been dead for three days but felt as heavy as a stone, the ink still faintly wet in his memory,...
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