The Distant Ghost
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its edges curled from the damp, the ink of the Imperial Audit Office smudged into a brownish-grey smear that looked less like text and more like a bruise. Arthur Vane stood over it, his hand resting on the cold wood, feeling the grain bite into his palm as he read the final line for the third time: *Service record void. No claim admissible.* The date was the...
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