The Golden Ritual
Vane, you there. Arthur Vane looked up from the ledger. The light in the foreman’s office was the pale, sickly yellow of a lamp burning low on oil. Outside, the mill roared, a constant mechanical thrum that vibrated in his teeth. He wanted the form signed. He wanted it before the shift change. He wanted it so that his son, Edward, could take the apprentice slot without a second interview,...
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