The Golden Ritual
The letter lay on the desk, its edges soft from handling, the ink faded to a rust color that matched the dust gathering in the corners of the room. Arthur Penhaligon adjusted his spectacles, the lenses slightly yellowed with age, and read the summons for the third time. It was a standard form, printed in bold, impersonal type, but the name at the bottom, Colonel Vane, carried a weight that made...
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