The Wistful Skyline
The heavy crystal decanter in Arthur Vane’s hand felt slick with condensation, the glass cold against the palm of his right hand, a small, icy weight that grounded him as the laughter of the Meridian Insurance Exchange’s senior partners rose around him like steam from a boiler. It was the winter of 1912, and the office banquet was in full swing, the air thick with the smell of roasted pheasant...
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