The Pale Bonsai
The descent into the basement of the Old Hall was a journey of three hundred steps, each one a small surrender to the damp that clung to the stone. Elias Thorne, forty-two and junior archivist, carried a watering can in one hand and a trowel in the other, his knees aching with a pain that had become his constant companion. He was not a man of great stature, nor of loud voice, but his hands were...
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