The Golden Visit
The roof collapsed not with a roar but with a wet, heavy sigh, a sound like a giant beast exhaling its last breath into the suffocating dark, and in that instant the entire history of the house, the dust motes dancing in the shafts of dying light, the smell of damp wool and old paper, and the very air itself seemed to curdle into a thick, viscous fluid that pressed against the lungs of Margaret...
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