The Distant Whispers
The banquet hall of the Grand Meridian Hotel in London hummed with the low, electric thrum of a city that had forgotten how to sleep, its air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, spilled champagne, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies arranged in crystal vases that caught the gaslight and fractured it into a thousand trembling shards of gold and amber. Inspector Arthur Penhaligon sat...
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