The Distant Affair
The cellar was silent save for the wet, rhythmic dripping of condensation from the stone arches, a sound that had been the only companion to Arthur Pendelton for the last three years, a metronome counting down the hours of his secret. He stood before the oak workbench, the air thick with the sharp, medicinal scent of juniper and dried angelica, his hands hovering over the single, irreplaceable...
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