The Golden Circuit
The velvet lining of the coat had begun to fray at the seams where the elbows bent, a slow unraveling that mirrored the decay of the years themselves, and it was this garment, more than any other object in the cold, drafty archive of St. Jude’s Academy, that held the weight of the boy’s singular, obsessive memory. Thomas Ashworth stood before the heavy oak desk, his fingers tracing the worn...
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