The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 01:34:32 -

The rain had been falling on the slate roofs of Oakhaven for three days, a relentless, gray drumming that turned the cobblestone streets into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the amber glow of the gas lamps, and it was in this damp, industrial twilight, amidst the clatter of carriages and the smell of wet wool and coal smoke, that Arthur Penhaligon stood in the center of his aunt’s drawing room,...

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