The Wistful Mountain
The chandelier in the great hall of the Chateau de Vercors did not so much hang as it hovered, a cage of crystal and gold that caught the light of two hundred candles and shattered it into a blizzard of diamonds across the white tablecloths. It was the winter of 1912, and the air inside the stone walls was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, truffles, and the heavy, cloying perfume of the...
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