The Distant Ghost
Thorne. The word cut through the clatter of silverware in the mess hall of Fort Blackwood, sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath. Elias Thorne looked up from his plate of cold beef, the grease of the meat still clinging to his fingers, and met the eyes of Major Halloway. The Major did not smile. He held a glass of brandy, the amber liquid catching the light from the gas lamps, and his gaze was...
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