The Golden Suspect
Vane. The summons came from the clerk’s desk, a dry crackle that cut through the low hum of the gallery. Eleanor Vane stood up. Her knees popped, a small, mechanical sound that seemed too loud in the sudden silence. She smoothed the front of her grey dress, checking for creases that might betray her hands, which were trembling not from fear but from a static charge that had built up in the air...
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