The Distant Affair
The morning train hissed into the platform at Dover, a long, iron beast exhaling steam into the grey dawn. Arthur Vane stood at the edge of the platform, his uniform pressed to a severity that belied the tremor in his hands. He was thirty years old, a captain in the infantry, and he carried within his breast pocket a single object: a silver brooch, shaped like a lark, pinned there by Elena’s...
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