The Golden Quest
The rain hit the cobblestones of Whitehall. It was a cold, flat rain. I watched it fall. My left hand hurt. It always hurt now. A deep, dull ache in the knuckles. I flexed the fingers. They did not respond. I stood before the Ministry of War. The iron gates were closed. The guard did not look up. He held his rifle. The stock was worn smooth. I had seen him there for ten years. I knew his name....
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