The master bedchamber felt like a sanctuary carved out of the heart of an ancient mountain. Outside the four-inch leaded panes of the gothic arched windows, the winter blizzard raged across the Hudson crags, whipping needles of rime against the stone parapets and groaning through the chimney flues like a chorus of dying phantoms. But before the colossal hearth of polished black marble, the world was reduced to the warm,…
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