The Faded Masquerade
The invoice lay on the workbench, its ink smudged by a thumbprint of grease, listing the cost of three pounds of high-grade brass and two quarts of whale oil, a sum that would leave Elias Thorne with nothing for the winter coal. He folded the paper, the crease sharp as a blade, and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket, the weight of it a small, solid anchor against the rising tide of his own...
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