The Distant Crown
The champagne tasted of copper and stale ambition as I stood beneath the chandeliers of the Grand Hall in Harrowgate, watching the crystal glasses catch the gaslight in a thousand fractured sparks that seemed to dance with a malevolent, glittering purpose. I am Elias Thorne, a county inspector of thirty-two years, and I have spent the last six months chasing the shadow of Arthur Vane, the...
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