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... jarring Mrs. Elspeth Hargrove from her evening routine. She had been sitting in her armchair by the small fireplace of her modest London flat, a steaming cup of tea resting on the side table next to her knitting.

Outside, the rain lashed against the windows, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of droplets mingling with the faint hum of distant traffic.

Elspeth glanced toward the door, her wrinkled fingers pausing over her half-finished scarf. Visitors were rare, especially now. At her age, ...

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