The Wistful Saga
The air in the Great Hall of the Ministry of Domestic Stability did not smell of dust, as one might expect in a building so old and so deeply embedded in the bedrock of the city, but rather of ozone and wet stone, a scent that clung to the wool of Arthur Penhaligon’s coat like a physical weight. He stood before the high desk of Director Cassius Vane, his hands clasped tightly behind his back,...
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