The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-17 13:53:30 -

The train hissed against the iron rails, a long, metallic sigh that seemed to bleed into the damp November air. Arthur Vane stood at the window, watching the gray fields of Yorkshire slide past. He was a man of fifty, with hands that trembled slightly, a habit he had cultivated over thirty years of holding chalk and turning the pages of brittle, forbidden books. The carriage smelled of coal...

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