The Golden Master
Margaret carried the box. It was small. It was heavy. The wood was old. The handle was worn. She walked down the street. The street was gray. The rain was cold. It fell in sheets. It hit her face. She did not stop. She walked to the shop. The shop was dark. The sign was dead. A bell rang. It was a single note. It hung in the air. It did not fade. She stepped inside. The air was stale. Dust...
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