The Golden Visit
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the envelope black and heavy, smelling of old paper and damp earth. Arthur Vane held it in his hand, the wax seal unbroken, his fingers trembling not from the cold but from a sudden, violent recognition of the signature inside. He was forty years old, a historian of moderate renown at Oxford, and the man who had sent this summons was the Rector, a title that had...
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