The Golden Master
I counted the hours first. There were fourteen of them left in the basement before the gas lamps in the upper hall would be extinguished for the night, and I needed all of them to finish the transcription of the final folio. The air in the St. Jude’s Institute cellar was thick with the smell of wet plaster and old paper, a dampness that seemed to settle into the joints of my knees and the...
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