The Golden Cellar
The scratch was fresh, a jagged white line bisecting the polished brass cover of the ledger, and Arthur Vane stared at it as if he had been struck by a physical blow in the dim, coal-scented cellar of the Harrowgate Textile Mill. It was a small wound in the metal, yet it felt like a gash across his own face, a violation of the unbroken service his father had sworn to Mr. Sterling thirty years...
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