The Golden Downtown
The gaslight in the basement of the Blackwood Mill flickered with a sickly, jaundiced pulse, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to stretch and contract like the ribs of a dying beast. Arthur Vane stood in the center of the damp, brick-lined chamber, his hands wrapped tightly around the golden locket that hung from a chain around his neck. He had been here for three years, ever since the...
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