The Faded Alibi
The banquet hall of the Aetheric Conservatory hummed with a low, electric thrum that vibrated in the teeth of every guest, a sound so pervasive it had become indistinguishable from the ambient silence of the late nineteenth century. Margaret Holloway stood near the center of the room, her fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of a crystal flute, watching the steam rise from the copper pipes...
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