The Distant Ghost
Vane. The name hung in the damp air of the courtyard, called out by a voice that had lost its patience with the slow, deliberate pace of the dead. You turned from the iron gate, your fingers still blackened with the soot of the archive room, and looked up at the figure of Director Halloway standing under the single, sputtering gas lamp. He was a small man, made smaller by the heavy wool of his...
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