The Distant Clue
The banquet hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of roasting meats or spiced wine, but of damp wool and the metallic, ozone tang of ink that had soaked into the very plaster of the walls, a scent that clung to the nostrils of the guests like a persistent, unwelcome guest itself, while the candles, guttering in drafts that had no business entering such a sealed structure, cast long,...
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