The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it invaded the cellar, a cold, relentless gray water that seeped through the cracks in the foundation and pooled around the ankles of Elias Thorne, who stood with his back against the damp concrete wall, breathing in shallow, ragged gasps as if the air itself had turned to heavy, wet wool. It was the year of the Great Drought, or so the newspapers claimed in...
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