The Distant Temple
The letter from the solicitor lay on the desk, the ink still wet where Arthur Vane had pressed his thumb to the seal. It was a simple document, a notice of final settlement, but the paper felt heavy, damp to the touch, as if it had been pulled from a wet river. Arthur stood in the center of the study in Blackwood Manor, the air thick with the scent of copper and old dust. He was thirty-four, a...
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