The Golden Harbor
The bell rang. It did not chime. It screamed. I held the ledger. The ink was wet. My hand trembled. The ink bled. It looked like blood. I wiped it on my sleeve. The stain remained. The door opened. Thomas entered. He wore his coat. The buttons were gold. The gold was dull. It was tarnished by sweat. By fear. He stopped. He looked at me. I looked at the desk. The desk was oak. Old oak. The wood...
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