The Distant Crown
"Thorne! Get in here, before the rain washes the whole damn place away." The voice belonged to Mrs. Gable, the building superintendent, standing in the doorway of the stairwell with a mop bucket that looked too small for the deluge outside. Elias didn’t answer. He was fifty-two years old, retired from the municipal archives where he had spent thirty years cataloguing the paper lives of dead...
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