The Faded Masquerade
The clock in the hall ticked. It was a heavy sound. Wood and brass. Arthur Vane sat in the corner. He watched the dust. Dust moved in the light. It was a slow dance. Arthur did not look up. He adjusted his tie. The silk was cold. He felt the cold on his neck. It was a small, sharp pain. The house was large. It was too large. Shadows pooled in the corners. The air smelled of old paper. It...
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