The Keeper of the Silver Mirror
The mirror arrived on a Tuesday in November, wrapped in brown paper and straw, bearing no return address. I found it among the parcels left at the door of my chambers in Cambridge, and I should perhaps have sent it back. But the moment I unwrapped it, I knew I could not. The glass itself was silvered with an unevenness that spoke of centuries rather than decades. The frame was wrought iron,...
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