The Distant Ghost
"I’ve got the forms here, Mr. Thorne, if you’re ready to sign." The paper was thin, flimsy, a thing that could be torn by a careless finger, and it sat on the mahogany table in the hallway, cold to the touch despite the mid-October sun slanting through the dust-heavy window. I looked at the agent, a young man with a name tag that read *S. Piers, Senior Associate*, and I looked at the oak tree...
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