The Pale Letter
The chandelier in the main hall of the Ashworth Estate was not merely a fixture of light; it was a suspended galaxy of crystal, each prism catching the gaslight and fracturing it into a thousand trembling shards that danced across the walls, the floor, and the faces of the guests. It was a dazzling, frantic display, a mirror of the social season’s fever, and I stood in the center of it,...
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