The Golden Visit
The first button came off the hem of my coat at three in the morning, a small white pearl that fell onto the wet cobblestones with a sound like a knuckle cracking. I did not stop to pick it up. I was walking to the shop of Silas Vane, the tailor who had mended my father’s trousers for thirty years and who, according to the rumors swirling in the taverns, could stitch a thread so tight it could...
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