The Golden Downtown
You dream of your hands again. Not the hands you have now, thin and trembling, stained with the rust of the mill and the soot of the coal stove, but the hands from before. They were smooth, unblemished, capable of holding a crystal goblet without fear of shattering it. In the dream, you are standing in the grand foyer of the Whitmore estate, the air thick with the scent of lilies and old money,...
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