The Golden Master
The ledger in Arthur Vane’s hand weighed precisely four ounces, a heavy brass-bound thing filled with the arithmetic of his ruin. He counted the hours of the day by the angle of the sun striking the dust motes in the foyer, measuring the light as a man measures flour for bread, knowing exactly how much was left and how quickly it would be consumed. It was 1912, and the Vane Manor was dying, its...
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