The Golden Cellar
The brass valve wheel stood in the center of the Ballroom like a dark, metallic flower blooming out of the polished floor, its spokes catching the chandelier light in a way that seemed to mock the sweat-stained hands of the men who had spent their lives turning the old iron cranks in the cellar. Arthur Vane sat at the edge of the table, his cutlery resting untouched on a plate of cold roast...
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