The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray mist that clung to the stone walls of the manor house, soaking into the mortar until the very fabric of the building seemed to sweat with a cold, damp breath. Inside the library, the air was thick with the scent of decaying leather and old beeswax, a smell that had settled into the grain of the oak shelves over centuries....
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