The Wistful Asylum
The ledger on Mr. Vane’s desk weighed three pounds, a heavy, leather-bound thing that smelled of old tobacco and damp wool, and Elias Thorne counted the entries in his head before he spoke, trying to steady the tremor in his hands that had nothing to do with the cold. He needed the final deed to Blackwood Manor, the crumbling ancestral estate in the Irish countryside, sold to the highest bidder...
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