The Golden Greenhouse
The glass was already cracked, a spiderweb of white fracture lines running from the north pane to the iron frame. Margaret did not look up from the shears. "It’s a structural weakness, Father," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the tremor that usually lived in her throat. "The wind will take it eventually. You might as well sign the order now." Her father, Colonel Arthur Vane, stood in the...
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