The Golden Harbor
The candlelight in the dining hall of Blackwood Hall trembled, casting long, wavering shadows against the peeling wallpaper, but Silas Vane did not flinch. He sat at the head of the long oak table, his scarred hands resting flat on the polished surface, watching the guests eat. They were the respectable families of the valley, men in stiff collars and women in lace, all of them avoiding his...
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