The Distant Ghost
The hand of Dr. Elias Thorne, stiff with the cold of the January wind, twisted the iron latch of the library door until it groaned against its rusted hinge. The smell struck him before the sight did, a thick, cloying mixture of damp wool, old paper, and the metallic tang of the stove that had been left unlit for days, a scent that hung in the air like a heavy curtain. He was forty years old, a...
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