The Golden Greenhouse
The brass thermometer, its mercury column swollen to the red line, sat in the palm of your hand, cold and heavy against the sweat-slicked skin of your twelve-year-old fingers. You held it there for a long moment, the glass ticking faintly as it cooled, before setting it on the wooden sill of the glasshouse where the air was so thick with humidity it felt like breathing through wet wool....
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