The Distant Blade
The first catastrophe arrived on a Tuesday in the form of a crate that should never have existed. It came from the basement of a demolished townhouse on Comely Road, packed in straw and labelled only with a date—1743—and a single initial: E. Arthur's assistant, a bright young woman named Catherine who wore trousers to work and looked at him with the patient pity of someone twenty years his...
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