The Distant Clue
The coffin was too small for the man who had filled the chair at the head of our table for thirty years, but it was the only thing they had that fit the bill. "Close the lid, Elias," my sister Margaret said, her voice thin as wire. "The magistrate is watching." I did not look at the magistrate. I looked at the oak. It stood in the center of the yard, a black pillar against the gray November...
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