The Distant Affair
Thorne. The name was not spoken by a human voice but by the wind itself, a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to drag across the salt crust of the flats, calling him back from the edge of his own exhaustion. Elias Thorne, forty-two, a man who had once signed death warrants in a leather-bound ledger for twelve pounds a day, walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a prisoner who had been granted a...
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