The Golden Visit
The velvet of the collar was gone, worn away to a thin, fibrous thread that bit into the nape of his neck with every step he took through the long, echoing corridors of the Ashworth estate, a phantom weight that reminded him of the days when he had believed that if he could just scrub the stain from the fabric, he could scrub the sin from his soul. Thomas Bradshaw moved with the careful,...
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