The Golden Farce
The clerk’s voice cracked like a dry twig in the freezing air of the office, calling out Elias’s name with a sharp, accusatory edge that made the dust motes in the stagnant air seem to freeze in place. "Mr. Thorne, the magistrate is not a man to be kept waiting, and your silence is no excuse for the debt that hangs over your head like a wet cloak." Elias stood by the window, his fingers wrapped...
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