The Distant Legend
The ink on the ledger page was dry, but the paper was soft, yielding to Arthur Vane’s thumb as if it were wet. He was forty years old, a medical historian at the University of Leeds, and he was dying, though he had not yet admitted it to anyone but the mirror. The cough that had plagued him for three years was no longer a nervous tick; it was a wet, rattling engine in his chest that shook the...
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