The Golden Suspect
The dinner service at the Ashworth estate had long since given way to the heavy, suffocating weight of the dessert course, a confection of cream and spun sugar that sat upon the silver platter like a small, white corpse, untouched and gleaming under the gaslight. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table, his hands resting loosely on the polished mahogany, fingers stained a faint, permanent...
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