The Distant Metropolis
The telegram arrived on a Tuesday, folded into a square no larger than a postage stamp, the paper brittle and yellowed by decades of neglect. Arthur Vane held it in his left hand, the index finger of his right tracing the telegraphic code that spelled out a name he had not spoken aloud since the winter of 1921. The train to Oakhaven had been late, delayed by a strike at the junction, and the...
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