The Golden Quest
The clock on the wall of the Municipal Archive ticked with the heavy, wooden persistence of a hammer striking an anvil, counting out the seconds that Arthur Penhaligon had spent hunched over the deed to the Whitmore estate. It was 1912, and the air in the basement smelled of damp plaster and the sweet, rotting scent of decaying paper, a weight that pressed against Arthur’s lungs with every...
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