The Distant Threshold
The ledger showed four hundred and twelve days of unpaid wages, a sum that had grown in the cold like a tumor. Elias Vane counted the coins in his pocket, three silver and two copper, the metal biting into his palm with a chill that had nothing to do with the November wind. He stood before the unfinished arch of the St. Jude’s Cathedral, the stone rough and pitted under his calloused fingers,...
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