The Golden Quest
The brass buttons of Arthur Penhaligon’s coat were the first things to go, a small, metallic exhalation into the damp air of the attic where he had spent the last three days suspended in a haze of dust motes and forgotten grievances, his fingers trembling not from the chill that seeped through the warped floorboards but from the terrifying, exhilarating realization that he was finally,...
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