The Golden Ritual
Chapter One Venice in the autumn of 1937 was a city of wet wool and iron, a labyrinth of canals where the water lapped against the stone like a dog waiting for a command, and the air smelled perpetually of damp plaster and the sharp, metallic tang of the arsenic used to preserve the bodies of the dead. The Ministry of Records, a squat brick building wedged between a laundry and a chandler’s...
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