The Distant Affair
The rain did not fall so much as it hammered, a relentless iron drumming against the tin roof of the watchhouse that shook the teeth in Sergeant Thomas Bradshaw’s skull. He was not looking at the window. He was looking at the ledger. The paper was damp, the ink bleeding into brown halos, but the numbers remained stubbornly legible. He had been tracking the missing livestock for three weeks, a...
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