The Golden Oath
The fire did not roar at first; it whispered, a dry, papery exhalation that curled around the baseboards of the ancient manor house like a snake testing the warmth of a hearth, and it was in this suffocating, amber-tinted silence that Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose life had been defined by the quiet ticking of clocks and the orderly stacking of ledgers, realized with a shock that felt less like...
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