The Wistful Voyage
The silence in the house was not an absence of sound, but a presence, a heavy, velvet drapery that suffocated the air and pressed against the eardrums with the weight of centuries. Silas Vane stood in the center of the drawing room, his back rigid, his hands clasped behind the small of his back, the leather of his gloves creaking softly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a...
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