The Faded Alibi
The letter lay on the table, its edges soft and worn from the handling of three different hands, the ink a faded violet that had once promised a settlement but now spoke only of finality. I held it up to the dim light of the dining room, where the chandelier swung with a slow, drunken rhythm, its glass prisms catching the gaslight and scattering fractured rainbows across the wallpaper that was...
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