The Golden Suspect
The glass did not shatter. It dissolved. That is the first thing I must tell you, for it contradicts the law of physics and, more dangerously, the law of my own survival. I watched the pane of the clocktower’s great window turn into a mist of golden dust, drifting down into the street below like the pollen of a tree that had never existed. I stood in the attic of my employer’s house, a man...
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