The Golden Farce
The rain did not fall so much as it was thrown, a horizontal sheet of grey sleet that turned the heath into a churning sea of mud and heather, and in the center of this storm, Sir Aldric Vane walked with the steady, mechanical gait of a man who had long since stopped caring whether the earth beneath his feet was solid or merely a suggestion held together by the weight of his own iron boots, his...
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