The Golden Greenhouse
The chisel bit into the oak, a sharp, white sliver of wood curling up against the blade. Elias Thorne pulled the tool free, watching the shaving drop to the floorboards of the workshop, where it lay still and gray in the dim light. He was forty-five years old, a master glazier of thirty, and he was packing his life into three canvas bags. The house was quiet, save for the wet, rattling cough of...
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