The Faded Road
The ink was fading. Arthur Vane looked at the ledger. The numbers were bleeding into the paper. The columns of figures, once sharp and black, were now a smudge of grey. He rubbed his eye. The blur remained. He was in the office. It was a small room. The walls were panelled in dark oak. The air smelled of dust and old varnish. Outside, the city hummed. A low, constant drone. It was the sound of...
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