The Distant Garden
The letter lay on the iron table, its edges curling slightly in the humid air, the ink smudged where a thumb had pressed too hard. You read it three times, the words blurring into a gray smear that matched the color of the rot spreading across the glass panes of the Greenhouse of St. Jude. It was a dismissal from Colonel Vane, citing "incompetence and hallucinatory delusions," effective...
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