The Faded Portrait
The rain lashed against the slate roof of the old manor house with a ferocity that seemed to possess a personal grudge, drumming a relentless, hollow rhythm against the eaves while inside, in the candlelit study, Arthur Thorne, a man whose hands were stained permanently with the indigo dye of his trade, sat hunched over a table cluttered with parchment and ink, his face a mask of such profound,...
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