The Distant Clue
The crystal decanters on the long mahogany table caught the gaslight and fractured it into a dozen cold, sharp stars, reflecting the faces of my colleagues back at me with a distorted, mocking clarity. I stood at the head of the table, the newly endowed Chair of History hanging in the air like a noose, and in my left hand, pressed tight against my thigh beneath the wool of my trousers, I held...
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