The Rose of Auburn Hall
The Rose of Auburn Hall The house breathed. That was the first thing Cassidy noticed when she stepped across the threshold of Auburn Hall—not a metaphor. The old timber and wainscoting made sounds like a sleeping animal: the creak of floorboards, the sigh of radiators, the occasional groan of a beam settling into another century of weight. "Terrible," said the real estate agent, a thin man...
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