The Golden Maze
The cart rattled. The wheels groaned. The dust rose. It was dry. It was hot. Elias Thorne sat alone. He was a man of cloth. He made coats. He made hats. He made gloves. He made them well. The thread was fine. The cut was true. He loved the fabric. He loved the weight. He loved the drape. He left the village. The gates were iron. The sky was white. He did not look back. He knew why he left. He...
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