The Faded Paradox
The light in Sterling’s office was the yellow, sickly hue of old paraffin, and it made the man’s face look like a mask of wax. He did not look up from his ledger when he spoke, his pen scratching a rhythmic, dry sound against the paper that seemed to drown out the wind rattling the single pane of glass. "You are asking me to believe," Sterling said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, "that a...
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