The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray drizzle that turned the gravel of the driveway into a slurry of mud and stone, and it was in this damp, heavy silence that I arrived at the manor house of Arthur Vane. I was not a guest, nor was I a servant, though I wore the clothes of a scholar and carried the burdens of a priest. I was a witness, summoned by a letter written in a...
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