Two days could feel like forever. Oliver Laurent pursed his lips and offered a silent prayer. It seemed unchristian and ill-mannered to jest about eternity while standing over Andres van Eyck’s dead body. Still, with two days remaining before Oliver’s required year of service as parish constable expired, the next two sunsets seemed very far away. The body compounded his difficulties as he counted the jar of minutes before the end of his term. He knelt and studied the man. Van Eyck did not appear to be at peace. Did Norwich Strangers ascend to heaven, he wondered? He knew the

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