The Pale Verdict
The letter on Halloway’s desk was not a request, it was a dare. You remember the exact quality of the light that morning, the way the November sun slanted through the high, dust-choked windows of the Municipal Records Office, illuminating the suspended motes like a slow, silent snowfall. It was a light that made the old wood of the filing cabinets look wet, even though the air was dry and cold....
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