The Last Exile
I stood at the threshold of the Colonial Office for forty-three minutes before the clerk emerged. He was a young man, barely thirty, with the smooth skin of someone who had never known hunger. When I presented my credentials, he did not even look at them. "No native classification," he said, reading the document with deliberate slowness. "Therefore, no entry." "I am Elias Thorne," I said. "My...
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