The Golden Suspect
Vane, stop touching the glass, you’ll only make it worse. The voice of the head librarian, a man named Grieve who had served in the town council for thirty years, cut through the hum of the heating unit, sharp and final as a scalpel. I did not move my hand from the brass bezel of the central clock, which had fractured an hour earlier without a single sound, the bronze face splitting into four...
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