The House of All Verses
## I The house smelled like old paper and damp wood and something else—something that Julian Blackwood could not name but recognised immediately as the smell of time itself. He had not been back to Blackwood Manor in thirty-seven years. He had left at twenty-one with a suitcase and a letter of apology for his father and a belief that he would never want to return. He had been wrong about the...
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