The Wistful Mirror
The tremor in Elias Thorne’s right hand was a distinct, rhythmic shiver, like a wire plucked by a ghostly finger. It had started six months ago, a subtle jitter that made his pen slip on the paper, but now it was a violent spasm that shook the coffee from his cup and rattled the keys of his typewriter. He sat in his narrow office in the municipal building, the fluorescent lights humming a low,...
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