The Golden Maze
The rain lashed against the leaded glass of the conservatory, a rhythmic drumming that seemed to echo the frantic beating of Sir Aldous Thorne’s heart. He stood before the great oak table, his fingers trembling as he adjusted the brass loupe over his eye. The air smelled of wet earth and old paper, a scent that had permeated the Halloway Estate for three centuries. In the center of the table...
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