The Golden Harbor
Elias Thorne, the apothecary, is a man whose hands are stained permanently with the rust of iron filings and the tannin of dried bark, and he stands now in the doorway of his shop, listening to the fog press against the glass like a wet, heavy cloth. The village of Blackwater is silent, save for the rhythmic crashing of the sea against the shingle, a sound that has become the metronome of his...
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