The Golden Quest
The house stood at the end of the drive. It was old. Stone and slate. Rain ran down the walls in silver threads. Margaret stood on the porch. Her coat was wet. She did not go in. She looked at the door. It was closed. Inside, the air was still. The clock on the mantel ticked. One second. Two seconds. Margaret watched the second hand move. It had no weight. It had no will. It just went. She felt...
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