The Distant Summer
The law in Copenhagen was a machine of gears and iron, indifferent to the rust it left on the soul. Lars Dahl stood in the pawnbroker’s back room, the air heavy with old paper and damp wool, watching the afternoon light slice through the single high window. He was twenty-four, a constable with hands that had learned the weight of a truncheon, and he wanted only for his brother Tomas to be free....
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