The Pale Verdict
The brass key had been in the Holloway family for three generations, a small, heavy thing with a bit worn smooth by the friction of a thousand turns, its surface no longer bright but a dull, creamy yellow that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, and Arthur Holloway held it in his left hand, the thumb resting on the bow, feeling the familiar, cool weight of it against the skin of...
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