The Golden Crossing
The air in the basement smelled of wet limestone and the distinct, metallic tang of ozone that always preceded a storm, a scent that had become inextricably linked in your olfactory memory to the heavy, velvet weight of the coat hanging on the peg by the cellar door. It was a garment that did not belong to the modern era, with its high, stiff collar and its buttons carved from bone, and it had...
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