The Last Sealed Gate
ACT I The fog clung to Oxford like a shroud on the night Arthur Windsor found it. He had been summoned to the Bodleian's subterranean archives at half past eleven by a man whose name he did not know and whose face he could still barely recall. The servant—a thin boy with ink-stained fingers and the pallid complexion of someone who had never seen sunlight without a window between him and it—led...
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