The Golden Crossing
The banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and wet wool. It was a smell that stuck to the back of the throat, thick and cloying. Elias sat at the long table. His hands were still. They were always still. He wore his coat. The coat was old. The wool had thinned at the elbows. The buttons were brass. They were cold. Across the room, people laughed. They raised their glasses. The light from the...
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