The Pale Altar
The ink had dried on the page before Arthur Vane noticed the stain on his cuff, a small, dark tear in the white fabric that seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own as he leaned over the ledger. It was November, 1904, and the air in the counting room of Harrow & Blackwood was thick with the smell of dust and stale tobacco, a physical weight that pressed against Arthur’s temples as he squinted...
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