The Golden Mirror
October 14, 1904 The rain has not stopped for three days, and the water running down the windowpane of my study looks less like weather and more like the slow, viscous leakage of my own sanity. I am forty-two years old, an Inspector of the Metropolitan Police, and I am holding a piece of glass that should not exist. It is a shard from the industrial mirror that once lined the walls of the...
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