The Golden Harbor
"Sign here, Mara. And here. Don’t make a scene." The pen felt slick in my hand, wet with a grease that wasn’t mine. I looked at the paper. It was a waiver of liability, standard form, printed in that small, tight font that made your head swim if you read it too long. I looked at Mrs. Gable. She stood behind the desk, her back straight, her face a smooth, pale mask. The room smelled of floor wax...
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