The Golden Visit
The magistrate’s pen hovered over the parchment, a thin black needle suspended above the white expanse of the paper, and Arthur Blackwood watched the tip tremble as if it were a drop of blood about to fall. The dining room was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the heavy, cloying perfume of the lilies that lined the mantelpiece, but beneath these civilized aromas lay the metallic,...
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