The Golden Greenhouse
The rain in the village of Oakhaven did not fall so much as it persisted, a grey, weeping curtain that blurred the line between the earth and the sky, turning the cobblestones into slick, reflective mirrors that trapped the light of the gas lamps in trembling, amber pools where Thomas Bradshaw stood, soaked to the bone, clutching a sack of stolen turnips with the desperate, white-knuckled...
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