The Golden Farce
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain drawn tight against the windows of the manor. Inside, the air was stale, smelling of damp wool and old parchment. Thomas stood by the heavy oak desk, his hands clasped behind his back. He was not a man of grand gestures. He was a man of quiet endurance, a keeper of the estate’s ledgers and its secrets. Across the desk sat Lord Aldous, a...
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