The Distant Summer
The letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the ink still wet in the creases where Magistrate Halloway had folded it with a hand that trembled only slightly, a tremor that Elias Thorne had learned to ignore for the last five years. Halloway sat in the high-backed chair, the leather worn smooth by decades of sitting, and he looked at Elias with eyes that were not unkind, but were certainly not...
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