The Distant Garden
The gaslight in the medina flickered with a stutter that matched the rhythm of Omar Mahfouz’s failing pulse, casting long, jagged shadows across the piano nobile where the aristocrat, Lord Vance, sat counting coins. Omar stood by the window, his hands trembling as he watched the ancient oak in the courtyard, its leaves rustling with a sound like dry paper tearing, a sound that was unmistakably...
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