The Wistful Cipher
The feast in the cellar of the old tannery was a riot of casked ales and roasted geese, the air thick with the scent of roasting fat and the damp, earthy smell of the stones that had held the city’s secrets for three hundred years. Margaret Holloway sat at the head of the long oak table, her fingers wrapped around a goblet of dark wine that felt heavy and cold in her hands, while the laughter...
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