The Distant Blade
The envelope was heavy, heavier than paper should be, and it sat on the linoleum floor of the boarding house in Blackwater like a stone dropped into a still pond. Elias Vane did not open it; he knew the contents by the weight of the silence that preceded it, a silence that had cost him his left ear and half his sanity in the coal pits of Silesia before the war. He was thirty years old, a man of...
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