The Wistful Saga
"Vane." The voice came from the doorway of the station house, low and dry as sandpaper on wood. Arthur Vane did not look up from the ledger. He was forty-two years old, and his knees ached in a way that had nothing to do with the damp stone floor and everything to do with the twenty years he had spent standing still in the rain. He wanted the pension. He wanted the quiet. He wanted to file the...
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