The Golden Farce
Thorne, you are late for the train, and the carriage will not wait for your scholarly vanity. The station master’s voice cut through the damp mist of 1892, sharp as a scalpel against the soft wool of my coat. I adjusted the leather satchel that held the draft of my treatise, *The Rational Dissection of the Golden Wraith*, and stepped onto the platform with the heavy, arrhythmic thud of a heart...
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