The Faded Quadrant
The ink on the desk was wet, which was impossible, because my mother had been dead for seven years. I stood in the antechamber of the Halloway estate, the heavy velvet curtains damp with the winter rain, and watched the Duke of Halloway stare at the sheet of paper with the hollow, hungry look of a man who had forgotten how to eat. He was seventy-two, a man whose empire of coal and iron had...
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