The Pale Meridian
The watch lay in Arthur’s palm, its face cracked, the hands frozen at four minutes past three. It was a heavy thing, brass and cold, the kind of instrument that measured time for men who had no use for it. Arthur Vane held it against his chest, feeling the dull thud of his own heart against the metal, while the rest of the study settled into a silence so complete it seemed to press against his...
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