The Golden Cellar
"The stone is dead, Elias. It has given up the ghost." I looked up from the clipboard, the pen still heavy in my hand, to see Chief Inspector Halloway leaning against the peeling wallpaper of the customs office. His face was a map of old bruises and older regrets. Outside, the November wind was tearing at the ivy that strangled the west wall, a sound like tearing flesh. I had spent twenty years...
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