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... d already turned cold, and the autumn wind cut sharp as a blade.

Where the blade passed, a carpet of gold was left in its wake.

Behind the golden locust trees stood a strict, suspended-gable quadrangle courtyard: slate-grey brick walls, a solemn lacquered red front gate, braced with brass knockers, guarded on both sides by a pair of stone lions polished smooth with time.

There was no name above the door, only four numbers: 1607.

This was the most tasteful club in ...

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