The Golden Downtown
The bread arrived at seven in the morning, wrapped in brown paper that had begun to soften with the dampness of the October air, and Elias Vane stood in the doorway of the bakery, holding the loaf as if it were a child he had just pulled from a burning house, his fingers stained with a dust that shimmered with a faint, iridescent gold which did not match the flour on his apron nor the yeast in...
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