The Golden Harbor
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of Whitmore Lane into slick, black mirrors reflecting the gaslight and the heavy, soot-stained brick of the Ashworth manor. Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, a suffocating perfume that seemed to cling to the skin like a second layer of cloth. Thomas...
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