The Golden Visit
Thomas. The word was not shouted, but it cut through the damp silence of the infirmary like a blade through wet wool. Brother Thomas looked up from his desk, his hand hovering over the parchment, the quill trembling in a grip that had gone white-knuckled. He was forty-five years old, and his lungs felt like they were filled with wet sand, a sensation that had been growing heavier for the past...
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