The Golden Quest
The coat hangs on the back of the chair by the window, heavy and still. It is not a coat you would choose for a winter walk. It is a garment of office, of authority, woven from a fabric so dense it seems to absorb the light from the gray November sky. You have been staring at it for an hour. The clock on the mantel ticks with a mechanical indifference, marking the seconds that are not yours to...
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