The Wistful Incense
Act I "You are asking for a pension, or you are asking for a gallows?" The voice belonged to Captain Vane, a man whose uniform fit him with the loose, comfortable drape of a coat worn too long, and who spoke with the particular patience of someone who has never been hurried by anything but his own digestion. I stood in the center of his office, a room that smelled of stale pipe tobacco and the...
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