The Golden Quest
The letter lay on my desk, the ink still wet, the words trembling with the same spasm that seized my left hand. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a senior clerk at the Whitmore Ironworks, and I am writing to you, Mr. Halloway, because I am running out of time. My pension is due. The Director’s signature is required, and without it, I am nothing but a man with a shaking hand and a debt to...
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