The Golden Circuit
The rain had been falling on the roof of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Chronically Insane for three days straight, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls and into the marrow of my bones. I sat in my office, a small, windowless room at the end of the east corridor, surrounded by the smell of wet wool, stale tea, and the metallic tang of the new...
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