The Wistful Saga
The invoice lay on the desk, the paper thin and yellowed at the edges, smelling faintly of the mildew that had taken root in the basement of the municipal water authority, a scent that Elias Vane had carried home in his coat for the last three weeks, settling into the fibers of his wool trousers and the lining of his skull. He adjusted his spectacles, the lenses fogging slightly in the damp air...
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