The Distant Summer
The glass of the mantel clock shattered with a sound like a bone breaking, sending a rain of crystal and brass gears across the Persian rug. Elias Thorne did not flinch. He remained seated at his desk, his pen hovering over a sheet of dense, typewritten notes, his eyes fixed on the space where his wife, Clara, had been standing a moment before. The air in the study was still, but the...
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