The Golden Farce
The fever broke at dawn, leaving Edmund Holloway in a state of terrible clarity that felt less like recovery and more like a hollowing out. He lay in the back of the horse-drawn carriage, his head lolling against the leather seat, watching the grey mist of the Scottish highlands peel away in strips as the vehicle jolted over the uneven track. Beside him, clutching a satchel of dried herbs and a...
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