The Faded Attic
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the cobblestones of the dockside into a slick, reflective mirror, and it was in this perpetual dampness that Elias Thorne sat in the small, rented room above the chandler’s shop, holding a tin of preserves that had been packed into his trunk by his mother before he had left the...
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