The Distant Affair
The banquet hall of the Municipal Sanitation Bureau smelled of roasted mutton and damp wool. Arthur Vane sat at the long table, his tie slightly askew, watching the steam rise from his soup. He was thirty-four years old, a junior clerk with twelve years of service and a promotion waiting in the wings. All he needed was the final report on the Verdant Protocol. The room hummed with the low,...
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