The Distant Garden
The rain had stopped, but the gutters still wept a thin, grey stream into the mud. "Did you hear the name?" I asked, my voice rasping from three days without sleep. "Did you hear it in the file?" Julian did not look up. He was sitting on the floor of the library, surrounded by the debris of a life that had been systematically dismantled. His hands were bound with a strip of torn wallpaper, the...
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