The Distant Summer
The rain against the windowpane of the Ministry of Supply did not wash the grime from the glass but merely smeared it into a grey, viscous film that obscured the street below, and Thomas Hale stood before it, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, desperate weight of the order pinned to his chest, a stamped memo from Director Vance that commanded him to remain in London to...
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