The Golden Master
The red stamp hit the paper with a sound like a bone cracking, a wet, heavy thud that vibrated through the thin wood of the desk and up into Arthur Vane’s wrists, where it joined the tremor that had not left his hands since the mud of the Somme decided to keep him as its prisoner. He watched the ink bleed into the fiber of the petition, the letters D-E-N-I-E-D expanding in a dark, spreading...
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