The Golden Suspect
The banquet hall of the Ashworth Correctional Facility for the Insane was not a place of feasting, but of containment, a long, low room of peeling green paint and iron grates where the air hung thick with the smell of boiled cabbage and stale sweat. It was the autumn of 1912, a time when the industrial hum of the nearby foundries rattled the glass in the windows, a persistent, metallic...
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