The Distant Affair
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, slipped under the heavy oak door of the study like a pale, dead fish, and it was not until the ink of the date, the fourteenth of November, had dried on the crisp white paper that Elias Vane realized the world had ended not with a bang but with a bureaucratic shrug. He sat in the high-backed chair that had belonged to his father, and before him lay the...
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