The Wistful Saga
The rain lashed against the windshield of Arthur’s sedan, blurring the desolate plains into a gray smear that offered no comfort and no direction. He was thirty-two, a junior clerk with ink-stained fingers and a heart that beat in arrhythmia, driving toward the county prison where his father, Judge Silas Vane, awaited the electric chair. The town had branded Arthur a traitor for exposing his...
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