The Faded Quadrant
The rain had been falling on the slate roof of Harrowgate Manor for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that seemed to seep through the very stones and chill the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a cold that no amount of coal in the grate could ever quite banish from the heavy, oak-paneled study where he sat alone with the ledger. The deed to the estate, the last tangible proof of his father’s...
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