The Golden Ritual
The boiler room of the Ashworth estate smelled of sulfur and wet wool, a heavy, cloying scent that had seeped into the very mortar of the brickwork over the last decade of the industrial boom. Thomas Ashworth, once a man of sharp angles and iron will, now stood with the hunched posture of a man carrying a weight he could no longer see. He was forty-five, though the gray in his beard and the...
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