The Golden Farce
The iron bones of Blackwood Hall had begun to groan in the damp October air of 1912, a low, tectonic rumble that Arthur Vane felt in his teeth before he heard it with his ears. He stood in the center of the grand foyer, his twelve-year-old hands pressed flat against the cold, riveted steel of the central pillar, trying to push back the shudder that ran through the house’s skeletal structure....
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