The Golden Farce
The cellar was not a room, but a hole dug into the earth where the light went to die, and there, in the damp dark that smelled of wet stone and old roots, Aldous Vane sat with the iron bowl in his lap, listening to the silence that was not silence but the heavy, breathing weight of the house itself, which had stood for three centuries on the hill and watched the generations rot and renew, and...
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