The Wistful Dinner
The table was set for eight, though only four souls remained to claim the seats, the porcelain gleaming with a cold, clinical purity that mocked the decay settling into the marrow of the house. Arthur Vane stood in the center of the long dining room, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the dust motes dance in the slanting afternoon light that cut through the tall windows like the blades...
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