The Faded Bouquet
The heavy silver snuffers of the chandeliers were the first thing Arthur Vane noticed, their cold metal reflecting the distorted faces of the guests in the Grand Hall of the Thorne estate. He held a glass of sherry he had not tasted, his knuckles white against the stem, while the smell of roasted pheasant and expensive perfume hung thick in the air, masking the underlying scent of coal dust...
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