The Golden Downtown
The ink on the ledger page had not yet dried, a wet, black mirror reflecting the gaslight that flickered above, when Elias Thorne realized his hand was no longer holding the pen. It was hovering, trembling, over the name of the debtors. The office was not an office, though it bore the heavy, velvet drapes and the oak desk of a London solicitor’s study from forty years prior. The air smelled of...
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