The Golden Quest
"Arthur." The voice was low, dry, and came from the shadows of the corridor. Arthur Vane stopped mid-step, his pen hovering over the ledger. Mr. Blackwood stood there, a silhouette cut from heavy wool, holding a glass of brandy that caught the dim light of the gas lamps. It was late. The rain lashed against the high windows of the archive, a rhythmic, percussive noise that usually helped Arthur...
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