The Faded Bouquet
The ledger had twelve entries. Elias Thorne counted them again, the ink still wet, the smell of iron-gall sharp in the cold air of the carriage. He was forty years old, a man of precision, and he had come to Blackwood Asylum to secure a singular, lucrative position: the sole authority on the case of Lady Vane. The industrialist, Lord Vane, had paid a sum that would buy a house in Kensington....
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