The Distant Threshold
"Penhaligon." The name hung in the air of the Meridian Insurance Company office, heavy and damp as the November rain lashing against the single-pane windows. I sat at my desk, the linoleum floor cold through the thin soles of my shoes, clutching a document that was not quite real. It was a policy for a pension, stamped with the company seal, promising me financial independence from the man...
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