The Golden Visit
You are in the cell. Not a jail cell, exactly, but the concrete box that is your life, the quiet office where you process the sins of others so that your own can remain unspoken. It is 1924. The rain hits the high, narrow window with a rhythmic, indifferent slap, blurring the view of the factory district outside. The air smells of damp wool and stale tea, a scent that has seeped into the fibers...
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