The Wistful Saga
"Did you take the money?" The question hung in the air of the kitchen, thick with the smell of burnt coffee and damp wool. I did not answer. I looked at my hands, resting on the table, stained with the grease of the engine I had been trying to fix for three days. My name was Thomas Vane, and I was a private investigator in rural Ohio, a title that had once meant something and now meant only...
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