The Distant Affair
The notice lay on the kitchen table, its corners curled slightly from the damp air of Blackwood. It was a standard form, printed in the dry, bureaucratic typeface of the county constabulary, detailing my immediate suspension of duty and transfer to the Hillside Sanatorium. I signed it with a hand that did not shake, though the ink bled into the paper like a bruise. Outside, the wind howled...
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