The Faded Alibi
The porcelain shard sat in Elias Vane’s palm, cold and sharp enough to bite the flesh, a jagged fragment of a blue-and-white teacup that had been broken for forty years. He held it there in the dim light of his cramped room above the chandler’s shop, turning it over to feel the weight of the glass, which was heavier than it looked, a burden that seemed to pull his wrist down toward the floor....
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