Irena Spargo let the stylus fall onto the record and the music began to play. Nimrod, by Elgar; music she had listened to countless times since her childhood. She listened to how the combined notes of string instruments rose and fell like a feather in a breeze, the distant moan of horns accenting small crescendos before eroding back into the subdued, almost mournful lull of the piece. The sound seeped through the doors of the office and into the corridors of the old university. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence; she often used the professor’s office to dress for evening events. In fact, it was almost time…


BY BENEDICT ROBINSON


PROLOGUE 1


PROLOGUE 2


CHAPTER 1


CHAPTER 2


CHAPTER 3


CHAPTER 4


CHAPTER 5


CHAPTER 6


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