The Distant Journey
The crystal decanters caught the gaslight in a fractured array of gold, mirroring the polished mahogany of the long table where the Ministry of Internal Affairs gathered to celebrate the fiscal year’s end. Arthur Penhaligon sat at the far end, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the unopened bottle of claret before him, while the laughter of his superiors swelled around him like a tide that...
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