The Golden Greenhouse
The pear was soft, a bruised yellow thing that gave way under Elias Thorne’s thumb with a wet, fibrous resistance, and he crushed it in his fist to prove to the man standing in the doorway that the soil was dead. The juice ran into the creases of his knuckles, cold and sour, while the new owner, a distant cousin named Julian who had the pale, detached look of a man who had never worked a day in...
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