The Golden Harbor
The frost on the windowpane was thick as old glass. "Did you see it?" asked Elias. His voice was a dry leaf scraping across stone. He stood by the hearth, his shadow long and thin against the whitewashed wall of the cottage in Harrowgate. He did not turn to look at me. He was looking at the fire, or perhaps through it, into some cold place where time had stopped. I sat in the armchair, my hands...
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