The Faded Sutra
The rain hammered against the single pane of glass in the station office, a rhythmic, metallic tapping that seemed to count down the seconds of Arthur Vane’s life. He stood before the desk, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back that the knuckles turned white, staring at Mr. Halloway, the Station Master, who was busy polishing a brass lamp with a rag that had long since lost its...
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