The Wistful Witness
The road to Blackwood Manor was a scar of red earth cutting through the grey heath. Sir Aldous Vane walked it with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who had carried the weight of the law for twenty years. He was forty-two, his face a map of old bruises and harder decisions, his constable’s tunic hanging loose on a frame that had once been lean. In his pocket, the warrant for Lord Blackwood...
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