The Pale Altar
"Arthur Vane." The name hung in the air of the office, heavy and sharp, like a hammer striking a nail into wet wood. Director Halloway did not look up from his desk. He was cleaning his spectacles with a handkerchief that had seen better decades, the linen frayed at the edges, stained with the faint, yellow residue of old ink and stronger spirits. Arthur stood by the door, holding a ledger...
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