The Golden Downtown
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hung, a persistent, gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the old district into slick mirrors reflecting the dying gasps of the gaslights. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have spent the last twenty years keeping the night watch over the Harrowgate Exchange, a job that paid enough to keep the rot out of my lungs until the rot...
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