The Pale Altar
In the feverish, amber-lit haze of his recurring dream, Arthur Pendelton did not sleep but rather existed in a state of suspended judgment, floating above the polished mahogany desks of the Sterling & Vane Actuarial Firm. It was a place of such precise, mechanical order that the air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next calculation to be finalized. The year was 1908, and the...
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