The Wistful Cipher
The banquet hall of the Grand Meridian Hotel smelled of roasted pheasant and stale tobacco, a heavy, cloying perfume that clung to the velvet drapes and settled in the throats of the guests who had gathered to celebrate the centenary of the firm. It was a night of excessive light, the chandeliers burning with a fierce, unwavering brilliance that seemed to strip the shadows from the corners of...
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