The Wistful Witness
The brass watch in Elias Thorne’s hand was cold, its face cracked by a single hairline fracture that ran from the twelve to the six, a scar he had not yet repaired. He sat in the solicitor’s office, the leather chair creaking under the weight of his forty-two years and the soot that seemed to have settled into the pores of his skin, while Mr. Vane’s lawyer, a thin man named Halloway, shuffled...
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