The Distant Affair
Elias’s fingers wrapped around the spine of the leather-bound volume, the hide slick with the dampness of the basement archive. He wiped his palms on his trousers, leaving a faint brown smear on the wool. The air smelled of rotting apples and old paper, a scent that had seeped into his pores over the last three months of cataloging the restricted collection. He was forty years old, and his...
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