The Asylum at Blackwater Hall
The ferry crossed the Sound in a rain that fell like nails. Thomas Ashworth stood at the bow with his cigar, watching the island emerge from the fog like a thing half-remembered from a childhood dream. Blackwater Hall rose from the cliffs ahead—a Gothic monstrosity of turrets and gables and windows that looked like eyes in the dim light. He had been hired to find a woman. Mrs. Blackwood, an...
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