The Golden Visit
The rain fell upon the soot-blackened streets of Manchester with a persistent, rhythmic hiss, as if the city itself were a vast, dying engine leaking steam into the damp night air. Elias Thorne stood by the window of his cramped office, the glass cold against his forehead, watching the water bead and run in long, weeping lines down the pane. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale...
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