The Golden Mirror
The question was whether the light in the hallway was playing tricks, or whether Thomas Hale’s mind was finally cracking under the weight of the fever that had held his daughter, Elara, for three weeks, and he stood in the doorway of the study, his hand resting on the cold mahogany frame, watching the golden mirror at the end of the corridor reflect not his own gaunt, forty-five-year-old face,...
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