The Golden Circuit
The letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the ink of the date smudged by a thumb that had been wet with rain and something darker. Elias Thorne adjusted his spectacles, the light from the single kerosene lamp casting long, jagged shadows across the floorboards of the Highland estate. It was 1924, and the house was settling into a groan that sounded less like wood contracting and more like a...
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