The Distant Threshold
The soot of 1912 clung to Elias Thorne’s skin like a second layer of flesh, a gritty testament to the years he had spent shoveling coal in the dockyards of Liverpool. He stood at the gangway of the *Aethelgard*, the transatlantic liner that promised a permanent berth and a life beyond the crushing weight of poverty, his eyes fixed on the brass compass mounted in the chart room above him. It was...
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