The Golden Harbor
The rain in the Blackwood valley did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil that blurred the edges of the world and turned the stone walls of the manor into the bones of a drowned giant. Arthur Vane stood at the threshold, his constable’s coat heavy with moisture, his hand resting on the iron latch that had not been opened in three weeks. He was forty years old, a man whose face had been...
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