The Golden Song
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel path to the Ashworth estate into a slurry of mud and broken stone that sucked at my boots with every step. I am Elias Vane, a philologist of modest reputation and considerable debt, and I stood before the rotting porch of my late uncle’s home with a notebook in one hand and a trembling sense of impending doom in the other. I had come...
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