The Faded Quadrant
The rain fell upon the stone walls of the abbey with the persistence of a debt that could never be fully paid, a rhythmic, hollow drumming that seemed to hollow out the very marrow of the young scholar, Julian Vane, as he sat hunched over his desk in the narrow, windowless scriptorium where the air tasted of damp wool, old parchment, and the metallic tang of rusted ink. He was not a man who...
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