The Distant Garden
Chapter One Wanthanee Wongwiset was scrubbing the rust from the brass compass when the water turned the color of old blood. He had been at it for three hours, his knuckles white, the small file working over the casing with a rhythmic, metallic grind that filled the damp air of his study. The deadline for his monograph on local folklore was in two days, and the pages of his draft, stacked on the...
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