The Meridian of Hope
I. The iron box was smaller than Thomas Meridian expected it to be—smaller than the amount of dust inside it deserved. He had found it at the back of his grandfather's wardrobe in Peoria, wedged behind a row of moth-eaten coats that had not seen sunlight since 1912. The lock was rusted; the key had been lost, as keys tend to be when they belong to dead people. Tom used a letter opener and three...
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