The Golden Cellar
The cellar was a mouth that had forgotten how to swallow, a cavernous void beneath the manor house where the air tasted of damp stone and the metallic tang of old pennies, and it was here, in the suffocating gloom where the candlelight trembled like a frightened bird against the rough-hewn walls, that Arthur Pendelton, a man whose mind had been sharpened on the whetstone of academic rigor until...
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