The Distant Journey
The letter from Halloway lay on my desk, the ink still wet enough to catch the light of the gas lamp, though he had signed it three hours ago. It was a polite thing, the sort of note a man writes to a dog he intends to put down, citing "irregularities in temperament" and a "disposition to distraction" that made my continued presence in the vault untenable. I read it twice, then a third time,...
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