The Golden Visit
The gold leaf did not stick; it slid, a flimsy, shimmering thing that refused to adhere to the rough, unprimed canvas of the Mayor’s portrait, and I watched it curl away from my fingertips like a dying leaf, while Mr. Halloway stood behind me with his arms crossed, his heavy boots shifting on the warped floorboards of the cramped 1904 printing shop, his sneer a physical weight that pressed down...
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