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The strain of the rituals took their toll on Lord Benedict. He watched his son grow stronger while he shrivelled. His hands shook with palsy and his knees weakened. Outside his room, the plush hallway of the Union Club was hushed. Dust mites danced in the warm air lit by plumes of diffracted radiance. The stained-glass window that overlooked the hall and stairwell took the sunshine and turned it into an artist’s palette of light. He’d closed the door on the desultory air and the noiseless club with the distinct sensation that he had forgotten something, that someone somewhere was laughing good and hard at his foolishness. His head pounded as he crossed to his chair by the window and thrust aside the heavy curtains guarding against the day. He opened his mouth on a gasp for air and realise