The Golden Visit
The debt was four hundred and twelve pounds, a sum that sat in the ledger like a stone in the throat. You counted the coins in the tin box, three times, your breath shallow in the cold air of the tower. The Great Chime hung above, its brass face dull, waiting for the oil you did not have. You were Elias, forty years old, and your fingers were the only capital you possessed. They were long,...
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