The Distant Blade
The rain had been falling on the slate roofs of the Ashworth estate for three days, a relentless, gray drumming that seemed to hollow out the bones of the house and the man who lived within its walls, until the very air smelled of wet wool, old paper, and the metallic tang of impending change. Elias Vane stood in the center of his study, a room that had once been a temple to the orderly...
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