The Golden Crossing
The notice of termination lay on the desk, the paper yellowed and brittle, smelling faintly of the coal dust that settled on everything in Oakhaven. Elias Thorne stared at the stamped signature of Foreman Halloway, the ink still wet, a dark stain against the bureaucratic precision of the form. It was a cold November morning in 1912, and the air in the watchman’s hut was thick with the damp...
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