The Golden Harbor
The name of the house was not spoken, but the name of the man was. Elias. It came from the top of the stairs, a voice like a knife being dragged across slate. Elias Thorne stood in the cellar, his hands wrapped around the cold iron of the bucket, and he did not look up. He knew the sound of that voice. It was the sound of the new world, the one that measured things in pounds and shillings and...
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