The Golden Quest
In the half-light of a London morning, when the fog still clung to the cobblestones of Bloomsbury like a reluctant ghost, Henry Ashworth-Cross found himself standing in the doorway of his late uncle's study, surrounded by the golden detritus of a lifetime spent searching for something he could never quite name. The room smelled of beeswax and old paper, of leather-bound volumes that had...
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