The Distant Journey
The trunk stood open in the center of the study, its lining a faded green velvet that had seen better decades, and Arthur Vane stood before it with a pair of tweezers, sorting his lecture notes into a pile of white paper that looked uncomfortably like the ash of a fire that had not yet been lit. It was November of 1912, and the cold had settled into the bones of the house, a damp chill that...
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