The Distant Ghost
Thorne. The name was not a greeting but a summons, spoken by the butler, Silas, with the flat, finality of a gavel striking wood, cutting through the low hum of the dining room where thirty guests sat in the amber glow of three hundred candles, their faces carved from wax and expectation, waiting for the master of the house to grace them with his presence. Elias Thorne, forty-two years old,...
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