The Wistful Cipher
The rain lashed against the single pane of my study window, a relentless, grey drumming that matched the hollow ache in my chest. I held the sheet of paper in my trembling hands, the ink on the page shimmering with a wet, oily sheen that defied the dryness of the room. It was the Wistful Cipher, the text that had consumed the last ten years of my life, and I needed to speak to Inspector...
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