The Wistful Saga
The chisel weighed four ounces, a precise and heavy fact that Arthur Vane had known for twenty years. He counted the strikes on the limestone block, one, two, three, his wrist moving in a rhythm that had long since ceased to be conscious. Four ounces against the grain, four ounces against the will of the stone. In the dream, the archway had not crumbled so much as it had simply ceased to hold,...
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