The Faded Frontier
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Archival Integrity was a cavern of polished mahogany and suspended gaslights, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the faint, metallic tang of old paper. In the center of the long table, Elias Vane sat in his customary place, second from the head, his spine rigid against the high-backed chair, his eyes fixed upon the silver service...
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