The Faded Bouquet
The gaslight in the precinct office hissed, a thin, dying sound that seemed to mock the silence of the room, and Sergeant Elias Thorne sat with his left hand resting on the mahogany desk, the knuckles blackened and hard as river stones, a creeping petrification that had begun three months ago when his wife, Margaret, had died in the bed they had shared for twelve years. The Inspector, a man...
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