The Golden Circuit
The house was old. Older than the town. Older than the river that cut the valley in two. We called it the Ashworth Place. My father’s name was Edward. Mine is Julian. I am a scholar. I study the past. I study what is buried. I have been studying the Ashworth Place for three years. I am wrong. I have always been wrong. The room is cold. The air tastes of dust and dry rot. I sit by the window....
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