The Golden Song
"Put the pen down, Vane." The voice came from the doorway, dry and papery, belonging to Dr. Aris, a man who smelled of stale tobacco and antiseptic and who had the habit of checking his watch every forty seconds as if time were a debt he was trying to collect. Elias Vane did not put the pen down; his hand was trembling, not from fear but from the cold that seemed to radiate off the stone walls...
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