The Distant Nightmare
The chandelier above the long mahogany table at the Blackwood Steel Mill banquet hall cast a fractured light across the crystal glasses, each facet acting as a tiny, cold eye watching the forty-year-old Arthur Vane. He stood in the center of the room, his voice steady and clear as he raised his glass, asking for the reinstatement of the pension that had been suspended since he refused to sign...
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