The Golden Suspect
The feast in the great hall of Ashworth Manor was a cacophony of clinking silver, the heavy thud of roasted meat against oak, and the low, resonant hum of men who had spent the day breaking stones and now spent the night breaking bread, yet for Sir Julian Thorne, the noise was a distant, muffled roar, like the sea heard from a high cliff, while he sat rigid in the shadowed corner near the...
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