The Golden Farce
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, relentless sheet of gray that turned the dirt roads of the Appalachian foothills into rivers of sucking mud. Thomas Vane stood at the edge of the clearing, his boots sinking into the slurry, his heavy wool coat soaking through to the skin. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders and thick in the neck, with hands that looked as if they had...
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