The Golden Downtown
The candle on the altar guttered, not from a draft, for the stone walls of the manor were thick and unyielding, but from the sheer weight of the silence that had settled over the hall, a silence so profound it seemed to press against the eardrums like deep water, and within this heavy quiet, the voice of Alderman Thorne, sharp and brittle as ice cracking on a frozen lake, cut through the air...
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